


wasting beats of this heart of mine

by ArgetCross



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, Pining, Rating May Change, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, V1.0 spoilers, Zagreus Becomes A Mortal AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26832964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgetCross/pseuds/ArgetCross
Summary: “You sound like a mortal.” She said, with the faint glimmer of amusement in her eyes. Zagreus chortled too, but then fell silent. Nyx gave him a knowing look. “What is it, my child?”“You said the curse is tied into my godhood, right? What if…” The words tasted unnatural in his mouth, a blasphemy before they could even take shape in the air. Zagreus coughed them out regardless. “What if I could shed my divinity? What if I became a mortal?”--Or, despite being a god, Zagreus keeps running out of time. A "Zagreus Becomes Mortal" AU.
Relationships: Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 550
Kudos: 1314





	1. No Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the first ending after beating the final boss, after the release of v1.0.
> 
> My grasp on Ancient Greek myth and history is shaky at best, so please forgive any inaccuracies or anachronisms. Due to Hades' very unclear timeline and mythology being what it is, I will be cherry-picking what I need for this story!
> 
> Rating is subject to change. 
> 
> Title come from Barns Courtney's Sinners.

> _“Whom the gods love dies young.”_
> 
> _\- Menander, 4th century BCE_

In the garden, the snow melted under Zagreus' steps and his bare feet dug into the damp earth. He could see half-rotten gourds still lying in the frost-covered vegetable beds. In the middle of the clearing was a small cottage, blanketed in snow drift. 

"Mother?" Zagreus called out, hesitantly picking his way through the dead foliage. He had followed Nyx's instructions, turning right after the blinding sun past the cliffs, and had walked through the snowfall with his lungs aching from the chilly ocean wind. 

The surface was nothing like he imagined. He never thought it was so… wild. So wild and open. The sky above his head felt dizzying in how endless it was, even vaster than the stone halls of Tartarus. The claustrophobic halls of his lord father’s house, with its rooms bursting to the seams with groaning shades, could not have felt more distant in this wide open, snow-covered world. 

Yet here, on the surface, the originator of all that life, there was not a soul in sight.

Zagreus came up to the cottage, marveling at its straw roof and clay walls, and knocked on the faded wooden door. The door gave way under his fist, swinging open, and weak winter light filled the dusty interior.

“Sorry to intrude-” Zagreus’ words died on his lips at the sight inside. 

It was empty. The bed frame had been stripped of its mattress and had fallen to ruin. Several clay pots lay shattered on the ground, as if knocked aside in a hurry. Cobwebs filled the rafters. As panic began to rise in Zagreus' chest, he rushed in to search the cottage for signs of life. His steps kicked up clouds of dust, making him cough and his eyes water.

All the drawers were empty. So was the armoire, with its broken doors, and the pantry, except for a bag of forgotten moldy onions. If Persephone had once resided in this abode, it was certain that now she no longer did. 

No one had lived in this house in a very long time.

"Dammit all to Hades!" Zagreus swore, kicking one of the remaining clay pots and watching it shatter into pieces onto the stone floor. His sword, Stygius, instinctively jerked into his hand, but there was no one to fight. Not here. He dragged his hand through his face, feeling the crust of blood still on his forehead. His father's spear had left him several wounds that ached in the sharp air. 

Nyx... Nyx had been wrong. His mother wasn't here. He had fought through the legions of hell, slayed furies and kings alike, killed his own father- only to find an empty cottage falling apart from disuse.

Breathing heavily, he strode out of the cottage, welcoming the slap of cold air upon his face again. He tilted his head up to look at the grey, overcast skies and, even though his eyes burned, he refused to let any of his bitter tears fall.

"Okay then,” he said out loud, trying to tamp down his frustration. “Look at yourself, Zagreus. You did it. You escaped from your father's domain and you're free. This isn't the end. I can- I can just start looking for her. The mortal world can't be that big. And hey, there aren't any wretches trying to skin you every five steps! She's got to be out there... somewhere." 

He looked out at the wide sea, wondering where amidst that vast ocean she could have gone. The waves broke rough against the stone cliffs and, even up here, Zagreus could feel the faintest bit of icy spray. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something flapping from a branch in the rough sea breeze.

Zagreus dashed over so fast that he scorched the entire edge of the garden. There, caught and tangled on a gnarled olive tree, was a ribbon dyed in the bright green of springtime.

“This could be hers…” Even as the words left his mouth, he was surprised at how certain he felt. The shade of green– he was sure if he looked into the Mirror of Night, he'd see the same color flash in his left eye. Hadn't Than mentioned once that he shared that with his birthmother? He pulled it carefully from the tree, careful not to tear the silk in his callused hands, and then bound it next to the red one on his left arm. The green and red intertwined together looked right.

Maybe the Fates were still guiding him after all. 

Hope renewed, Zagreus hoisted Stygius onto his shoulders and muttered, "I'm on my way, Mother."

He didn’t know where to start, and so opted to trudge up the nearest hill in hopes of getting a lay of the land. As he sloughed through the snow, he wondered if he would get the chance to meet any mortals while he was on the surface. Real-life living mortals, not the faded shades they became after death.

“I wonder if they’ll know anything about Mother’s whereabouts,” he mused to himself. “Or maybe she’s living among them?” Zagreus didn’t know what to expect. Everything still seemed like a dream as he moved through this still, white world. He had heard of the surface, certainly, from Achilles, Orpheus, and the others, but being here in-person? That was something else entirely. 

Not that he would get a chance to compare notes with his friends, he supposed. At the thought of those he left behind, a dull ache lodged in his heart. He didn’t even say goodbye this time, too eager to have another go after nearly besting his father the attempt before. Zagreus remembered only speaking a handful of words to Achilles, Orpheus, and Nyx before hurtling out of the window, flames licking the soles of his feet. 

Not to mention, he hadn't even seen Than. Still tucked in his pockets was the bottle of nectar he had intended to give Death Incarnate. Zagreus supposed that he'd just have to drink it himself now. The thought made the ache turn fiercer, more painful than his lingering wounds, and he hurriedly picked up his pace.

"Well, if I die from overexposure, all these gloomy thoughts will have them laughing at me back down at the House," he told himself. As he crested the peak of the cliff, the blaze from Helios' chariot and its glare off the waves forced him to shield his eyes. Turning away, Zagreus saw that the land stretched rocky and hilly away from the coast, with snow making it glitter. The entrance to Hades sat at the tip of a peninsula, surrounded on three sides by rivers flowing out to the ocean.

This was Greece, the land of mortals that the Olympians ruled over and the birthplace of his mother and all his mortal friends. Despite its wilderness, its emptiness, its cold winds and its haggard, stony beaches, Zagreus couldn’t help but think, _it really is beautiful._

Then, sudden pain lanced up his chest and he stumbled to his knees on the rocky ground. The pain radiated up to his head, leaving him dizzy and breathless. The vast lands vanished from his line of sight as he fell to his hands and retched on frigid air.

"W-what is happening?" He gasped as all the heat from his body vanished. The chill of the wind became a knife through his chest, and he could feel his vision blurring. He felt sick, even sicker than after he had been poisoned by satyr darts. In the back of his head, he could hear the sound of lapping waves.

_Why is the ocean getting closer? No, wait—_

With horror, Zagreus realized the sound of water wasn't from the seas at all. Red began to rise up from under the pebbles, and the bloody water of the Styx had started to pull him down. With a roar, Zagreus pushed himself up onto his knees, fighting the intense wave of nausea that accompanied the motion, and tried to take a step away from the pool of blood he was sinking in.

It was no use.

The river followed him, expanding larger and large until Zagreus was up to his chest in blood-red water. His hoarse shout cut off with a gurgle as he sunk lower and lower, his limbs numbed and deadened. Then, the icy bright sunlight vanished from his line of sight as the Styx closed over his head and dragged his dying body back to the Underworld. 

Zagreus woke up floating in a pool of blood, disoriented and unsteady. As he hoisted himself out, he nearly slipped on the marble steps, stumbling to his feet. One look at the imposing marble columns and the line of shades milling about confirmed it.

He was back in the House.

Once he got his legs under him, Zagreus ran up to his father’s throne. Hades sat there, behind the ever-present stack of paperwork, and glared at the sight of his son shouldering past all the shades. “Back already?”

Disdain dripped from his low voice.

“How did you do that?” Zagreus asked his father, voice burning with anger. 

Without even putting down his quill, Hades looked down at his son with a sneer. "What on earth are you talking about, boy? I see you've been back for all of five minutes and have found new ways to be disrespectful. Either speak properly or get out of my sight."

Zagreus slammed a fist out. A bloodstone shot right past his father’s throne and shattered a vase of flowers in the corner. In the corner, Hypnos jerked awake with a shriek. 

The House grew silent and tense at once as shades pressed themselves to the corners of the halls, cowering. Orpheus stopped plucking his lyre, and Achilles watched warily from down the hall. Cerberus whined from all three of his heads. His father’s expression darkened even further. 

“Do not throw your blood at me _, boy._ ” 

Zagreus was not deterred. He pointed a finger straight at his father and shouted, “I want answers! How the hell did you drag me back this time? I defeated you in single combat! I was on the surface! I was going to find Mother! So what damn trick did you pull?" 

He didn't care that he didn't have his weapon, or any blessings from the Olympians. His blood boiled, aching for a fight, because he had finally _made it,_ only to end up back _here—_

Hades boomed, "Hah! Defeat me? As if. And even if that were possible, you still failed, _boy._ I knew you wouldn't last more than five minutes up there, and here is the undeniable proof. I didn't need to do anything. _Know your place._ "

His last declaration made the entire house rattle. Its pillars groaned under its Master's ire.

Zagreus was not swayed. Frustration bled from his teeth as he roared, "Will you just _stop lying to me—!"_

His father finally rose from his throne, fury filling his face. He looked seconds away from summoning his great spear, Gigaros, and smashing Zagreus to dust on the spot.

"My child. Please stop." The cool hand of Nyx, the Night-Mother, came to rest on Zagreus' shoulder, interrupting him from his own rage. She gave Hades a look. The lord of the Underworld paused before sitting back down with an irritated grumble.

“Get him out of my sight, Nyx.” 

“My lord,” she acquiesced before pulling the prince out of the throne room and into the side hallways. Once out of sight of his father, the fight abruptly left Zagreus. He slumped against the cold marble walls. 

“That was unwise, child, provoking your lord father in his halls,” Nyx admonished him gently, and Zagreus gave her a guilty nod.

“Sorry, I… I don’t know what came over me back there. I’ll fix the vase so Dusa doesn’t have to worry about it.” When he squinted, he could see their poor Gorgon custodian peering out from the rafters, trying to judge if it was safe to come down. 

Nyx waved her hand. “In time. Now, tell me what happened. Did I hear correctly that you bested your father in single combat and made it to the surface?”

“I did, Nyx, I defeated him and everything, but when I followed your directions and got to Mother’s cottage… it was empty. Abandoned. It looked as if she hadn’t been there for years,” Zagreus said, voice breathless and raw. He held out his arm to Nyx, to show her the green ribbon still bound tight against his skin. “I know she was there. I don’t know why she left, but I was so close! And then—”

The sickening memory of being swallowed by the Styx made Zagreus pause. Normally, his deaths were violent but quick, and he could pull himself out of the Styx battle-ready once again. This time, the slow agonizing death had been jarring and unnerving. 

“And then, my child?”

“When I was on the surface I just started feeling awful all of a sudden. Then the Styx just pulled me in. I wasn’t stabbed or poisoned or anything. I thought… I thought Father must have done something, but I’m not sure anymore…” Zagreus confessed.

“I was afraid of this.” At Nyx’s words, Zagreus’ head snapped up in surprise. She wore an expression of resignation, lacing her long, pale fingers in front of her _chiton_. 

“You knew this would happen?”

“You bear your father’s curse. He too cannot live long on the surface. Your life… it is bound to the Styx and to this realm. I wanted to believe you would not inherit this part of him as well, but… it is your godhood, much like your father’s.”

Her damning words fell heavy and solemn between them. 

Their weight nearly made Zagreus' knees buckle. He could feel his face, feel that red blood under his skin, giving way to a clammy pallor. The grip that Nyx had on his elbow tightened as he swayed, keeping him from toppling over. The hallway felt claustrophobic, filled with shades that glanced in his direction. Zagreus wanted nothing more than to run, to kick up his heels, to flee through that window and keep running and running until-

_Until what?_

Until he reached the surface and found his mother’s abandoned house again? Until he was dragged back, not by Megaera, not by his father, but by the very cursed blood inside him? 

Zagreus' mind had to pivot if he wanted to survive the revelations of the last hour. He grasped wildly for something, anything else, and landed on his other pressing question. “Nyx, why wasn’t my mother there? Persephone… you thought she would be there.” 

Nyx pursed her dark lips and the night sky shimmered in the turn of her head. “I do not know for certain, my child. When your birthmother had originally left, I had aided her by helping her escape under a cover of darkness. I did not think, given how she wished to live undetected between Olympus and Hades, that she would have chosen to move around the mortal plane. But perhaps some reason compelled her out to those lands.”

“You don’t think… she went back to Olympus, do you?” Zagreus ventured, but Nyx shook her head firmly.

“I am certain that is not the case. You have spoken to the Olympians, have you not? The long winter that comes from Demeter’s grief is proof of such. Persephone is… still lost to them.”

“To us as well.” Zagreus muttered under his breath. Then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “If what you say is true, that I have this curse… I’ll never be able to stay up there long enough to find her.”

Nyx frowned, but did not disagree.

“I need time. Time to search, time to travel—”

“You sound like a mortal,” she said, with the faint glimmer of amusement in her eyes. Zagreus chortled too, but then fell silent. Nyx hesitated. “What is it, my child?”

“You said the curse is tied into my godhood, right? What if…” The words tasted unnatural in his mouth, a blasphemy before they could even take shape in the air. Zagreus coughed them out regardless. “What if I could shed my divinity? What if I became a mortal?”

The Night-Mother grew impossibly still, to the point that the stars and planets creaked to a stop in their celestial progress. Then finally, after a long silence, she nodded, looking distressed.

“Such a measure could work.”

Zagreus choked. “Wait, it would actually work?” He felt dizzy with some phantom heat, as if the lavas of Asphodel had settled into his chest. 

“It would. But, my child, this would be a measure beyond extreme. The consequences… you’d carry them for the rest of your life. And your life… it would be short and brutal as the lives of mortals are,” Nyx said.

“It’d be longer than the hour I have up there currently,” Zagreus pointed out. Hope, violent and desperate, started to claw up his throat.

Every word seemed to pain Nyx, but she nodded, ever-supportive, “It is true. You would be free to spend your days as a mortal searching, unencumbered by the Styx. But… this would change you irreparably. You know how powerless mortals are in the face of the gods. And you will never again be the god you are today.”

 _The god of what?_ Zagreus wanted to protest. His father’s useless son who had no aspect, no domain of his own, not even freedom without having to brutally fight his way out of the realm. Still, the ache in the night goddess’ eyes made him hesitate. He reached out and gripped Nyx’s cold hand, a sign of the years of affection between them. 

“Please let me know how it can be done.”

She watched with large, sorrowful golden eyes. Quietly, she withdrew her hand from his, and when she sighed, it echoed across the stars. 

“All right, my child. I will find out how for you.”


	2. The Painful Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my lovely friend, [damaless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graendal/works), for proofreading this fic for me! 
> 
> Hang onto your laurels, we're just getting started.

A strange and uneasy peace filled the House of Hades. The prince, after purportedly escaping to the surface a dozen times, had simply stopped. 

No one knew what to make of it. Megaera stalked in and out of the House, uncertainty pinching at the edges of her mouth. Achilles could be seen frequently reassuring Dusa who seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Nyx remained soft-spoken and diligent, managing the House and saying nothing. 

As for Zagreus, no one had seen much of him. He had holed up in his room for the last several days, with a grim expression on his face. 

The last dozen escapes had all ended the same. The River Styx had claimed him again and again on that snowy landscape. He had tried bolting as soon as his father had been beaten back into the Underworld, trying to make it out to the foothills. He had tried lingering around the gate, recovering his strength after the strenuous battle. He had even picked boons from the Olympians specifically to keep up his vitality.

None of it mattered. As soon as he moved away from the gate to Hades, within the hour, his strength would fail and his body would die in the snow. Even with all the divine speed of Hermes in his fiery stride, he could not run the length of Greece in an hour, much less search for his mother across the countryside.

In the meantime, Nyx had made good on her word. She had found him a way. A way to rend him from his godhood and sever his connection to the Styx. 

They had huddled in a corner of the house, far away from his father’s earshot, as she explained. 

“We will have to detach your soul from your godly body and bathe it in the river Lethe. Your memories will be washed away and thus you will be able to enter the mortal cycle of reincarnation. Your body will remain here, in the Underworld. But your soul will fly up to the mortal world above.”

That stopped Zagreus in his tracks. “That means, I wouldn’t even remember why I was up there in the first place though! What would be the point then? If I can’t remember that I’m Zagreus, how will I know to search for Mother?”

Nyx held up a hand before Zagreus could continue. “It is true. But, there is one thing the Fates would allow. We gods can appear to mortals and bequeath them quests. This is the sacred covenant between the divine and the mortal. I will find a way to ensure that the mortal Zagreus knows he must search for the goddess Persephone. That this will be his most sacred mission.”

A rush of affection for the goddess that had taken care of him since he was young surged through Zagreus. To charge himself with finding his own mother- the idea felt right, more right than anything else he had felt in the gloomy house of his father.

“And… afterwards? When I die, as a mortal.” 

Looking troubled, Nyx hesitated. “That, I do not know. When you die, your shade will inevitably come to this house. At that time, we could attempt to reunite your shade with your divine body. However, you may simply burn up… as mortals do in the face of our full powers.” 

“Guess it wouldn’t just be my feet smouldering at that point, huh?” Zagreus joked, trying to hide his trepidation. 

Every ounce of this plan was, frankly, more terrifying than anything he had ever faced. He was not vain about his divinity, but to give it up for a weak, mortal shell! For most gods, it would be unthinkable. That was why he ended up confining himself to his room. 

He needed to think. 

It was a gamble. The riskiest gamble he could ever make. Zagreus could stay on the surface for as long as his mortal life allowed, letting him search freely for his mother- but after that, he would get no more chances. Not to mention, the Olympians would not help him. They wanted a godling to join them, not a mortal. Such a choice would be repulsive to them, almost to the point of offense. Any powers he had now, as limited as they were, would be lost.

Then why, despite all these pitfalls and dangers, did Zagreus find himself seriously considering it?

“I must be crazy,” he said to his empty room, dragging a hand down his face. 

“You can say that again.” 

The sound of Thanatos’ dry voice had Zagreus leaping to his feet in excitement. Sure enough, floating in the corner by the mirror was Death himself, wearing an amused expression. Zagreus grinned.

“Than! You’re back!”

The two of them ended up on the ledge overlooking Tartarus in the weapons hall. It was quiet, with Skelly having disappeared off somewhere, and the view of Tartarus’ ever-shifting sprawl was mesmerizing. Zagreus sat with his legs kicking over the edge and fumbled in his pockets.

“I know I have it somewhere- oh, here it is. For you, Than.” 

Thanatos accepted the bottle of nectar with a furrowed brow. 

“How do you even find so much of this stuff, Zag? I haven’t been able to finish the last bottle you gave me.”

Zagreus laughed and shook his head, “C’mon, it’s been forever since I last saw you. Might as well give you a fresh bottle if you’re such a slow drinker.”

Thanatos hesitated before pulling off his hood and stowing away his scythe. He arranged himself, so he ‘sat’, floating a foot off the platform. “Then help me out with this one, Zag.”

As he cracked open the bottle, Zagreus watched him with one blood red eye in ill-concealed delight. For once, it didn’t feel like Thanatos was about to vanish off to his work and Zagreus wanted to savor the feeling as much as the nectar. They passed the bottle back and forth in companionable quiet. 

It was Thanatos who first broke the silence. “You haven’t been out there recently.” 

“Hmm? Oh yeah, taking a bit of a break from the total destruction of Father’s realm,” Zagreus said, idly glancing back at the window in the courtyard. It still called to him, but he could ignore it for now.

“A break… That’s it?” Thanatos’ voice barely wavered, but Zagreus, who had known him for years, caught it. When he looked over at his friend, he could see how his fingers had tightened their grip on his cloak’s edge. The fringe of his silver hair, exposed with his hood down, glowed green in the torchlight of Tartarus. “I heard you made it out past your lord father though. Or are the rumors mistaken?”

“They’re not. I beat my old man and I did make it to the surface.” Pride welled up in Zagreus and he opened his arms wide, “It was so bright and vast. I know you said you don’t like it, but the colors, Than! And the sky!” 

Thanatos let out an amused huff. “I suppose you’d like it well enough, given how different it is from here.” Then his brow furrowed deeper. “But you’re back here.”

Zagreus sighed, arms slumping to his side. He tried to take another long draught from the nectar bottle, only to find it empty. Sheepishly, he set it aside. “Yeah. I’m still here. I can’t… I can’t survive on the surface, it seems.”

“What do you mean by that, Zag?” Thanatos watched him closely now, concern etched in the lines of his face. 

“Nyx said I’m bound to this realm, like Father is. As soon as I leave the Underworld, I can’t go for more than an hour before the Styx brings me back.” 

“And your mother? The Queen? Did you find her?” 

“...No, I didn’t.” 

Zagreus had half-expected relief from Thanatos, now that the futility of his mission had truly come to a head, but when he looked over, Thanatos’ expression had contorted with discomfort. Their eyes met, and Zagreus found himself averting his gaze, embarrassed. _What was I thinking?_ He ought to have known that Thanatos would derive no pleasure from his misery. 

His friend had always cared for him, cared for Zagreus, irrespective of their roles in the House.

The prince found himself giving the same explanations as he gave Nyx, about the abandoned cottage and the desperate attempts he made to survive on the surface, and watched Thanatos’ expression grow tighter and tighter. 

“So now no one knows where she is. Not Nyx, not the Olympians, not even Father,” he finished, with a tinge of bitterness.

Thanatos’ hand made an aborted motion towards Zagreus’ shoulder, as if to grasp it, before he dropped it back to his side. Sighing, he murmured, “I’m sorry to hear that, Zag.” 

_Damn him and his sincerity at times._

“Me too.” With a long groan, Zagreus dropped onto his back, staring up at the cavernous ceiling and feeling the cool stone against his bare shoulder. From down here, he had a good view of Thanatos’ broad back, cutting a dark shadow with his cloak pooling down to the ground. “My life, huh?”

“What are you going to do now?” Thanatos asked, turning behind him to look at his friend sprawled on the ground. 

The question startled a laugh out of Zagreus and he sat back up. “What makes you think I’m going to be doing anything?” 

The unimpressed look Thanatos sent him made him chuckle all the harder. Zagreus reached up to bump his shoulder with his own and sent him floating a little off to the side. The tension between them eased a little. Thanatos sighed and ran his hand through his fringe, voice almost goading.

“I’ve known you too long, Zag. Taking a break? Maybe someone else might delude themselves into thinking so, but not me. Are you giving up? Of course you’re not. You don’t know the meaning of giving up. So, what are you going to do now?”

“You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” Zagreus teased, even as the truth stuck in his throat. He pulled up his knees from the cliff’s edge and rested his chin on them, curling into himself in a way that he hadn’t done since he was a child. 

“If only,” Thanatos replied, voice low, “You still surprise me all the time, Zagreus. I’d say it’s one of your better qualities.”

The unexpected honesty threw him for a loop. 

He hesitated, and then blurted out, “Than... I’m thinking of doing something reckless. Really reckless. You’d be angry with me if I told you.”

“Well that’s not encouraging,” Thanatos replied dryly, drawing a bark of laughter from the prince. To Zagreus’ surprise, he drifted closer and alighted down to the ground, sitting with his legs crossed. Now at the same eye level, he looked younger, his face less drawn, and Zagreus could better count those pale eyelashes against the sharpness of his cheekbones. 

Still, Zagreus noted, the bags under his eyes were heavy these days. Too many mortals dying on the surface, he had mentioned. Some war of Ares’ design. 

“So what is this reckless thing you’re planning this time? Give me some heads up so I know what to expect the next time I’m out there to meet you.” 

The lightness in Thanatos’ expression, the quiet surety that surely this was just another challenge, made Zagreus feel sick, all of a sudden. Would Thanatos ever forgive him for choosing to become a mortal? It would surely sound like madness to Thanatos, whose whole job was to sever mortals from their life and bring them to the House. Would he even let Zagreus go through with such a reckless idea, risking his existence and godhood for such a slim chance? 

Zagreus already knew the answer. 

He couldn’t bring himself to lie to Thanatos. Instead, he muttered, “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, Than. Because… you’d try to stop me.”

Thanatos reared back, hurt flashing through his eyes. 

“I thought you knew by now, where my loyalties lie. All these times, helping you in Asphodel or Elysium, defying your father, did you think it was for show? That I would purposefully harm you?” 

“Wait, no— Than, that’s not what I meant. I know you wouldn’t hurt me. It’s because I know you care about me that I don’t want to put you in that position—” 

Zagreus faltered, heart leaping into his throat, as Thanatos sucked in a pained breath. 

They hadn’t talked about this. About… what they could be to each other. Thanatos had asked the question, a while back, and Zagreus still hadn’t known how to respond to the way their relationship had been changing, bit by bit. It had been put on hold, but those first tentative blocks of _something_ had already been laid into the foundation. Perhaps they had been there for a long time and neither of them had noticed. 

It was unbearable to bring it up now.

Thanatos unfurled himself from his spot on the ground and floated upwards. With a sharp tug, he pulled his hood back on, shadowing his own face. “I have to go. Work is calling.”

Something inside Zagreus cracked open, leaking red, and he pushed himself to his feet just as fast. “Than—”

“What is it, Zag? Are you going to tell me what you’re planning?” Thanatos said wearily, golden eyes narrowing from under his hood. His scythe had already manifested in an arc of green light and leapt to his hand. In his full regalia, he was truly Death Incarnate, closed off and stoic. It was hard to imagine that, just several minutes ago, they had been laughing and drinking together. 

Zagreus faltered, then pasted on a wan smile.

“Take care, Than. Once I figure out this Styx thing, I’ll see you up there sometime.” 

_Let him go. Don’t hurt him anymore._

Thanatos looked miserable, but nodded regardless. “I’ll be seeing you then, Zag.” Then with a harsh flash of light and the sound of a death knell, he was gone. Grin fading, Zagreus started to trudge back to his room, with the nectar heavy and uncomfortable in his stomach.

In the end, Zagreus could only bring himself to tell Achilles the whole truth. His whole conversation with Thanatos had left him shaken. His mentor’s grip turned white-knuckled on his spear. “I would warn you, about the mortal world, but—”

“The River Lethe would make that all pointless, wouldn’t it?” Zagreus chuckled, “Can you promise me something though? Can you… look after Dusa and Orpheus and everyone? That’s the only way I can go through with this.”

“Of course, lad. Have you truly said nothing to anyone else? Even Megaera? Thanatos?” 

The misery in Zagreus’ heart increased threefold. With a forced smile, he said, “If I said anything to Meg… Well, she’d be the first out of the Underworld gates to kill me herself.” 

After all the Furies were not bound to the Underworld the same way Zagreus was, even if they needn’t spend time on the surface to do their jobs. As for Thanatos, Zagreus had not seen him once since that last disastrous meeting. 

“It may help ease the parting if you left them something. Nothing is worse than a friend’s sudden and unexpected exit from your life. Trust me,” Achilles said, melancholy deep in his voice. Zagreus knew he was thinking of Patroclus. 

Swallowing hard, he nodded. 

“Your counsel is wise, Achilles. I don’t want anyone to suffer because of my absence. I’ll think over it some more.”

Achilles smiled. “That’s good, lad. I will miss seeing you around the House, but you must do what you must. May the gods grant you a blessed long life. Be well, son of Hades.” 

“You too, Achilles.” 

Zagreus clasped his hands to the greatest of the Greeks and bid him farewell.

On his way back to his room, he stopped to bury himself in Cereberus’ thick red fur. Just for a moment. At times, it felt like the enormity of his decision would crush his lungs. 

“I’ll miss you. But I’ll be back one day,” he muttered. The three-headed hound of hell huffed and licked the side of the prince’s face with two of his slobbery tongues. Careful not to let his father overhear, he whispered, “Even if I don’t remember you, you’ll remind me, won’t you, boy?”

Cerberus whined.

Then he walked away and stood in front of his father’s throne. There was no lost love between them recently, but Zagreus needed to say it regardless. 

“Father, I’m leaving. I’m leaving for the mortal plane to find Mother.”

Hades didn’t look up from his desk as he scoffed, “Foolish boy. How many times do you need to die before you learn your lesson? You will never leave here.”

Same old, same old. Even after defeating his father multiple times on the surface, nothing had changed. Zagreus gritted his teeth. “Where is she? On the surface. I know you must know something.”

“ _Silence!_ I will not speak of her in my halls. If you cannot make yourself useful, then get out of my sight.” 

There was nothing more Zagreus could say. His resolve had been set over a hundred escape attempts ago. He left his father’s presence for the last time.

That night, when the House was quieter than ever, Nyx waited for the prince in his chambers, holding Thanatos’ scythe in one hand and Hypnos’ poppies in the other. In the hands of the Night Mother, they glowed with unrestrained power, despite their unfamiliar wielder. 

Zagreus didn’t ask how she had borrowed their divine instruments and she did not tell him.

“Are you ready, my child?” 

The prince hopped onto the bed, eyeing Thanatos’ enormous scythe. It was fitting that it would be the instrument used to carve his soul from his body. For mortals, the scythe must be a terrifying sight, but Zagreus could only look upon it and remember Thanatos’ dark silhouette amidst the fields of Elysium. 

He was going to be so angry with Zagreus. 

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” Zagreus blurted out, propping himself up from the bed on his elbows.

Nyx hesitated and then, lowered the scythe. “The decision is yours, my child. If you have changed your mind, we needn’t proceed down this path. There may yet be other options.” 

Zagreus shook his head. “I’m not changing my mind. I just… argh, I wish-” 

_I never wanted to hurt them._

But staying, waiting in hopes for something to change, would only ensure it never did. Zagreus might be able to wait a hundred mortal lifetimes as a god, but each of them would be filled with the same emptiness, the same restlessness. 

Nyx’s face softened. “I would not send you to your wanton doom, my child. Trust in the Fates and do what you have set out to do.”

That was the closest to reassurance Zagreus could get. He smiled. “Take care of my body for me, won’t you? I’ll be back to claim it one day. And I’ll bring Mother back with me.” 

With a thump, he let himself fall back into the soft mattress and felt his whole body sag with exhaustion. Maybe Hypnos was right and they all just needed a nap. 

As Nyx dripped the nectar of the poppies over his eyes, they grew heavier and heavier until he could no longer keep them open. He could just barely feel her stroking his forehead before removing his burning laurel crown to the nightstand. The leaves slowly faded to a rust-red, quiet and inert. 

“We will always watch over you, my child. Now, rest.” 

Sleep overtook Zagreus and he could not see Nyx swing Thanatos’ great scythe down towards him. 

This was what Zagreus did not see. He did not see his own soul, a glittering, burning thing, rise from where the edge of the scythe dug into his chest. He did not see Nyx wrap it carefully in a shroud of night. He did not see how his body’s breathing grew shallow and his burning feet dimmed to embers on the covers. 

No one could follow the goddess of night as she shifted through the layers of the Underworld. Her domain quietly and judiciously rearranged itself for her passage. She arrived in Elysium, cradling Zagreus’ soul like a newborn. The Lethe flowed here, with its cloudy waters whispering promises of oblivion, and she knelt on its banks in the dew-laden grass. 

“Mother.” The toll of Death rang out in the clearing.

Nyx quietly hid Zagreus’ glittering soul within her sleeves and then rose to face her son. Thanatos looked at her with unhappiness, eyes darting to his scythe still in her grasp.

“My son. I apologize for taking your belongings without your permission,” she said, extending her arm. The scythe floated from her side back to Thanatos, who caught it in a sharp gesture. 

“The sleep that overtook me— I suppose that’s thanks to Hypnos’ poppies over there.” The red flowers remained clutched in Nyx’s hand, with their sleep-inducing nectar milky on their petals. The frown on Thanatos’ face deepened. “Why the need for such a thing, Mother? I am at your service if you ask for it.”

Nyx sighed. “I know, my son. The issue lies with me and my desire to spare you a little pain. Please forgive my deception. But, it was necessary.”

Thanatos, uncomfortable with his mother’s apologies, shook his head. “It’s fine. This... doesn't have anything to do with Zagreus, does it?”

The deep look his mother gave him only confirmed the obvious. Thanatos’ jaw clenched. 

“Before I tell you, I require you to promise to hold your silence in front of Lord Hades. There are consequences to what I have done here and I will bear them alone. This House cannot fall, Thanatos, but to keep it together requires this risk we have taken. I trust you will understand once I tell you.” Nyx said. 

Thanatos did not speak for several moments, as his eyes darted between the poppies and his mother. The furrow on his brow deepened, but finally, the desire for answers won out over the sense of foreboding. He nodded. 

“Fine. I swear on the river Styx not to reveal what you tell me to my lord. I won’t betray your trust… or his.” 

A great sorrow then rose in Nyx’s heart for her children, caught between the affairs of their parents. She floated closer to her son and revealed, in the depth of her sleeves, Zagreus’ soul.

Thanatos recoiled in horror. 

“No—! Please tell me that isn’t—”

His hands, shaking, reached out and Nyx let him take Zagreus from her without protest. After all, no other god, Olympian or Chthonic, knew the shape of a soul as well as her son. He cupped the soul of the underworld prince gently, as if holding a newborn sparrow, looking upon him with visible distress. 

“It is. He has chosen to become a mortal and become twice-born by entering the cycle of reincarnation.”

As if recognizing his old friend, Zagreus’ soul pulsed, once, twice, in Thanatos’ wide palms. The brief moment of wonder lasted only half a second before he looked at his mother with panic. “You cut him out with my scythe? Mother, that cannot be undone!”

She nodded. “There is no turning back now. We must take him to the Lethe.”

“ _Why,_ Mother? I can’t abide this. What drove you to—?” Thanatos froze. His silver hair fell in disarray over his widening eyes as he choked on his realization. “ _Oh gods,_ this is what he meant by a reckless decision. But I never thought he meant something this extreme!” 

Nyx floated closer to her trembling son and cupped his cheek with her cool hand, feeling the hard pinch of his mouth, bitten in anguish. 

“He left a message for you, you know.”

Thanatos jerked his head up, eyes wide and lost. “What? What did he say?”

“He wanted you to know that he would be back. And that he would see you once again. So he said you needn’t worry about him. ...That is what he told me to convey to you.” 

A sharp pained laugh escaped Thanatos’ lips and he pulled away from his mother’s hand. He clutched the soul closer, careful not to jostle it, despite his failing attempts to regain his composure. He croaked, “...Did he know that he would forget us all? Megaera. You. His lord father.”

Nyx nodded. Thanatos looked away, pulling his hood deep over his eyes, still cradling Zagreus’ soul against his chest.

“Then… just give me a moment to say goodbye.” 

“Of course, my child.”

His mother, ever benevolent and wise, turned away so Thanatos could finally let his frustrated tears roll, angry and bitter, down on his face. 

Night had fallen when Philomenus had been woken up by his eldest son yelling about strange noises in the barn. The old farmer had spent a long day in the field, plowing the dark earth in preparation for spring, and another such day awaited him once Helios’ chariot rode back around the sky. So it was with a heavy sigh that he followed his son, trudging through the frost, over to the barn with a lamp.

Inside the barn, the oxen seemed hale and well, snuffling and snorting when Philomenus approached. He asked Parias, his son, wearily, “So what in Gaia’s name is the issue?” 

“Listen closer, Father! And come here with the light. I think the source is here.” 

As they approached the back wall of the barn, Philomenus began to hear the sound of distant rumbling. Lifting the lamp to where Parias pointed, he saw an improbable sight.

From between the slats in the back wall, water gushed out, forming a strange, ghostly spring. Yet none of it pooled onto the floor of the barn, vanishing into the ether as soon as it hit the earth. 

“What in Zeus’ name?” he muttered. 

“You see? What on earth is happening?” Parias moaned. The father held up a hand and stooped down closer for a look at the rushing water. Some dark shape had started to form in the water’s spray, and appeared to be rising to the top of the stream. 

“By the gods…”

A basket, containing a child wrapped in silks as dark as the night sky herself, floated out of the water. Even as the father and son goggled at it, the spring began to evaporate and the sounds of that roaring river vanished, leaving behind only the child. 

The child blinked up at them and then broke into a grin. He had two deep green eyes that glowed in the light of the lantern. Nestled in his black hair was a spring-green ribbon and he clutched in his chubby fingers a well-worn plush toy shaped like a small rat. 

“A child from the gods,” Philomenus breathed. The child hiccuped when the oxen above him snorted hot air into his face. 

Carefully, he lifted the child out of the basket, still swaddled in those silks. The child giggled good-naturedly, keeping a firm grasp on his toy. 

“Does he have a name, Father? Do you think he might be the son of some important god?” Parias asked, looking wary. They knew too well of the fickleness of gods, especially when concerning their marriage beds. 

“Best not to speculate for now, my boy. Go on, run and wake your mother. And the midwife while you’re at it. We should see to the child’s health first,” Philomenus instructed his son. Parias took one more bewildered look at the child, who was busy blowing spit bubbles and waving his tiny fists, and then took off back to the house. 

As Philomenus adjusted the child in his arms, he noticed a gold bracelet on a tiny wrist. He could barely make out the tiny stamped text that read, ‘Zagreus’. 

_A hunter? Or perhaps his name?_

“Is Zagreus your name?” 

More spit bubbles. 

Philomenus sighed. Fates be merciful, he knew a command from the gods when he saw one. Still, he was certain his future would now be filled with certain hardships, and the source of those hardships would definitely be the bright-eyed boy in his arms. Looking out at his frost-covered farmlands, he uttered a fervent prayer,

“Oh Mother Demeter, please look after us and this child.”


	3. The House of Philomenus

Night had fallen over the House of Philomenus. Its inhabitants had found their way into the arms of Hypnos. The snowstorm from the afternoon had come and gone, blanketing the farmlands with fresh powder. 

Everything was silent except for one small boy. 

Bundled up in his robes, Zagreus trotted down the tiled floors of the house. His feet remained bare despite the chilled stone. In his arms, he had his tiny hunting bow, a traveler’s bag he had stolen from his brother, and a raggedy plush of a rat wearing a bow made of green ribbon. 

He snuck past the servants' quarters, where the snores of the cook rattled the rafters, and reached the backdoor by the kitchen. Standing on his tiptoes, he was just tall enough to unlatch the wooden post over the door and slip outside into the freezing night. The snow had piled up against the door and the boy winced as his feet plunged into the cold drifts. 

Outside the house, the farmlands belonging to Philomenus stretched out for acres, all barren thanks to the merciless weather. At its borders lay the forests at the foot of Mount Helicon, whose slopes protected them from the winds off the Gulf of Corinth. The road to Athens stretched out to the south-east, with its stone _hermai_ markers glittering with snow-covered caps.

Zagreus set off, trudging through the snow-filled yard towards the main gate in front of the road. His breath rose up, misty-white, towards the vast night sky. Hundreds of constellations glimmered over his head, illuminating his path. Tiptoeing past the chicken coops, he had almost made it past the kennels when the sound of a collar clinking filled the air. 

From the doghouse, a wet nose poked outside of the flap and sniffed. Zagreus froze as a bleary-eyed hound slunk out of the doghouse. 

“Good doggie…” he breathed, inching closer, hand outstretched. The old dog cocked her head as he gave her a pleading look.

Then, she raised her head and shattered the silence of the night with a deep, booming bark. 

The chickens, roused before dawn, began to shriek. A goat started bleating two buildings down. All the while, the old dog, startled by a racket that she had started, began to howl. 

Zagreus abandoned all pretense of stealth and quickly ran to her, wrapping his tiny arms around her. He petted her and whispered soothing remarks, until she quieted down and flopped on the ground with her belly up. 

“I can’t stay mad at you,” he admitted, and, despite being sold out, he couldn’t help but give her a vigorous belly rub. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth and the thump of her tail echoed across the clearing.

“Zagreus-! Where are you?” 

A door swung open from the house. In the light of that doorway stood his foster-sister, Polycaste. 

Zagreus winced. Even from here, he could see the fury in her expression. Slowly, he slunk to his feet and she caught sight of him.

“Get back inside this instant, young man!” she hissed, waving her hand at him.

Reluctantly, Zagreus trudged back to the house, where Polycaste promptly seized him by the shoulder and dragged him inside. She slammed the door shut before rounding on Zagreus. 

“What’s all this?” She gestured at the bow slung over his shoulder and the pack on his arms. When she held out her hands, Zagreus sullenly handed everything over except for his stuffed toy. She confiscated them and her expression was more thunderous than the Sky Father himself. “Were you trying to run away?”

“No…” Zagreus insisted, teeth chattering, “I was going to come back.” _Eventually._

“Yeah, because you wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes out there,” Polycaste said, rolling her bright green eyes. She herded him in front of the fireplace and threw him into a chair. Zagreus yelped when she seized on his bare feet, nearly upending him. “Look how cold your feet are! Why don't you ever wear your shoes? You're going to get frostbite and lose your toes. Then that'll show you."

"I hate shoes," Zagreus grumbled. 

"You'll hate not having your toes more. Zagreus, you're eight already. You can't be doing these kinds of stupid things anymore," Polycaste admonished. She threw the towel over his head and roughly dried his hair, leaving him sputtering. "I'm going to be married soon. Mom and Dad are getting older. It's time to grow up."

"It's not stupid!" he shot back hotly, petulant from her accusation. "I'm... looking for someone. The people who left me here."

He clutched his little rat plush so hard that he crinkled its little green bow. Polycaste looked at him with a sigh. 

“Do you even know where to start looking? Zagreus, you came to us from a mystical river. Your mom and dad aren’t just going to be in the next town over selling flatbreads!” Then, upon seeing the wobble from Zagreus’ bottom lip, Polycaste added hastily, “Besides, chances are you’re the son of some nymph or even some god! They know where they put you. They’ll come back for you one day.”

“Then why haven’t they come yet? Did they… not want me or something?” Zagreus murmured, angrily rubbing his small fists against his eyes.

Polycaste’s eyes widened. She quickly sat down next to him and stroked his messy dark hair. “No, that’s not what I meant. If your parents didn’t care, they wouldn’t have left you with us. They could have just put you on a mountainside somewhere to die.”

Zagreus stared at her in wide-eyed horror. Tears started to fill his eyes. 

“Wait, _argh,_ that’s not what I meant. I mean, they didn’t do that, so you know they, um, cared-” 

Sniffling, Zagreus ignored the rest of her fumbling explanation to bury his face into her chest. She rubbed his back awkwardly as he hiccupped and coughed. His eyes burned and his whole body trembled. 

Polycaste’s voice drifted down from above his head. “There are… rules, you know. The gods are the ones that choose, not you, when to appear to you.” 

"...you mean like Father," Zagreus mumbled into the fabric of her _chiton,_ wet from his tears. He pulled away and looked up at her.

"Yes, exactly! I mean, I haven't seen Grandmother my whole life and Parias says she only came by once, when he was a baby! They’re gods, Zagreus, and we’re mortals. We can’t just demand to see them,” Polycaste nodded self-assuredly, before remembering to make a sign at the ceiling. "Pardon any offense, of course, Lady Demeter."

Zagreus and Polycaste both looked up the ceiling, holding their breath. When no lightning came down to strike her, they looked at each other and let out breathy giggles. Philomenus had always warned them to be careful regarding the Olympians, even when it concerned his own mother.

No longer trembling, Zagreus blew his nose loudly in Polycaste’s handkerchief and then slid off her lap onto the rug by the fireplace. He had pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, curling into a little ball in front of the orange flames. Polycaste slumped down onto the floor with him and stretched out her hands to warm them by the fire. 

“Doesn't Lady Demeter know that Father misses her? Sometimes... Even though I don't know why, I get this terrible ache in my chest. Like I'm missing them so much that I want to die,” Zagreus confessed quietly.

Polycaste hesitated. Then she scooted on the rug to face Zagreus. The firelight behind her made her blonde curls glow. She took his small hands into her own large and calloused ones and, when Zagreus looked up at her, he realized for the first time how similar her sharp green eyes were to his own. 

“Zagreus. There is… one thing you can do. If you become a great hero and do good in this world, then even the gods won’t be able to ignore you. Then, I’m sure you’ll be able to find who your birth parents are. You’ll _make_ them notice you.” 

Something like hope bubbled in Zagreus’ stomach. Her foster-sister’s expression softened, just for a moment, before she remembered herself and scowled. 

“And no more running away. Promise me that.”

He gripped her hands hard with his own, as if signing a pact, and then nodded. "Okay."

Spring came and Polycaste departed for her new home with her new husband. Zagreus did his best to keep his promise, channeling his anxious spurts of energy into his lessons at the _gymnasia_ and his hunts in the nearby forests. During the planting seasons, he joined his foster-family in breaking the sod for the new year and Philomenus, as head of the house, poured libations to the Earth Mother in hopes of a good harvest. 

The following year, his foster-brother, Parias, married, and Euthalia, his new wife, gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Zagreus no longer had to endure the position of being the youngest in the household. Sorrow quickly followed joy as, one morning, Philomenus’ wife slipped on the muddy banks of a nearby river and subsequently drowned. The House went silent for a year in grief. 

The next summer, Zagreus won the footrace at the local festival for Demeter, earning himself his first laurels. His foster-father then gifted him a new bow, made of pale yew and gleaming white bone, carved from his own wrinkled and aged hands.

Life continued. 

Zagreus was not unhappy, per se. The farm had no end of work, true, but he did not lack for company. He made friends with everyone, from the servant boys to the daughters of neighboring farmers to the soldiers from the local garrison, for he could always be counted on to lend a hand with a bright smile. He got along well enough with his teachers, even though he often shirked his lessons to go fishing with the other village children and his lyre skills remained abysmal even after three years of lessons. 

He wasn’t unhappy, but something still drew him to the edges of his foster-father’s lands every other day. He’d look at the faroff blue silhouette of Mount Helicon one day or the rocky hills over by the coast and he would yearn for something unknowable _._ His foster-sister’s words came back to him frequently, but if there were heroic deeds to be done on the farm, Zagreus did not know what on earth they could be. 

“You’re constantly daydreaming. No wonder you’re always late for your chores,” Parias would chide him. He wasn’t nearly as stern as his sister, even when he would try to adopt her airs, and Zagreus would dodge the shepherd’s crook aimed for his knees with a bright laugh. 

“Don’t you want to go out there though? See Athens, Thebes, Argos?”

“Dreaming of war and glory?” Parias asked.

Zagreus shook his head. “Not for war. Not unless there was a good reason.” 

Fighting his peers in the ring at the _gymnasia_? Zagreus found such competitions thrilling. But he could not imagine killing tens, hundreds of men for that thing called glory. 

Parias nodded. A grandchild of Demeter, bloodthirst was not part of his nature either. He grew up with the earth, loving the way grapes and olives ripened under his hands. He regarded Zagreus with the curiosity he might give a wild bird, content to observe its wheeling flights from the ground. 

“So what fluff is filling your head then?” 

“I just… want to know where I came from. Who gave me this name? Why did they bring me to your house? I won’t find the answers here,” Zagreus said sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. He had hit a growth spurt recently at fifteen, all lanky limbs and growing muscle, and he could spar with the men at the garrison now, using his deft footwork to dodge and weave around their heavy strikes. 

Parias laughed good-naturedly. "Well, at least for me, I'm glad you're here with us, Zagreus. With Father growing older and the winters being what they are, breaking in these fields without you would be a pain."

"So what, I'm just a pair of hands you don't have to pay? I’m basically a servant around here." Zagreus sighed. “Or worse, one of the farm animals.”

His foster-brother stroked his beard, pretending to contemplate. “You know, I was there when we found you in the cow pen. Maybe your sire was a royal bull of Apollo.” 

Zagreus scowled and proceeded to chase a chortling Parias all the way back to the House. He ended up tackling his foster-brother straight into the mud outside of the barn. 

Philomenus didn’t let either of them back into the house that night.

The year Zagreus turned eighteen was one of the harshest winters of the last decade. The snows penned the entire House inside for months on end. Families across the region found themselves scraping the bottom of their larders and Zagreus and Parias often went to their neighbors to make emergency deliveries of grain. The temples burned offerings for a hundred and eighty days, but still spring did not come. 

The long confinement during the winter gnawed at Zagreus, wearing down his nerves and mood. He constantly paced the halls, yearning to get out. The house felt claustrophobic, the farm not much better. Therefore, when the news that a bear had broken into a nearby barn and devoured several goats came to the house, Zagreus was the first one to go running for his bow and arrows. 

“You must be careful, Zagreus. A bear that cannot hibernate is more vicious and bad-tempered than most,” Philomenus warned his foster-son. “It is desperate and therefore unpredictable.”

“I know, sir. I’ll be careful,” Zagreus promised. Two other men joined him on the hunt, each seasoned hunters in their own right, and they set out at morning’s light as soon as the sky cleared.

Zagreus brought with them his favorite hunting hound, Iphios, who plunged into the snowdrifts until only the tips of his brown ears could be seen. He had his bow slung across his back as well as a heavy net at his waist and a sturdy hunting spear tipped with bronze in his hand. Despite the bone-aching chill of the air, Zagreus set out with a spring in his step, marveling at the wide blue skies after a winter of musty, low ceilings. 

When their hunting party reached the foothills, Iphios gave a low bark and started to sniff close to the ground. Zagreus followed close behind and found unmistakable bear tracks in the broken underbrush. 

“Over here. I think it passed by here no more than half a day ago. The tracks are still fresh,” he pointed out to the other men with one gloved hand. 

One of the men knelt down to examine the tracks and nodded. “Then its den is likely in the rocks by the northwest bluffs. Plenty of caves for bears to hide in over there. Let’s take the pine trail before we lose daylight.” He pointed at a strip of a trail that snaked up along the mountainside, leading to the northwest face. 

Zagreus frowned, shaking his head, “But the tracks go down there, so shouldn’t we follow those-?” He gestured at the underbrush. 

The two other hunters looked at each other uneasily. “It’d be better to lay a trap for the bear at its den, Zagreus, if we can find it. Safer and less risky.”

“Let’s do this then. We can split up- I’ll track the bear’s movements and you go and find its den. You can set the trap and I can make sure that the bear stays out of your way until you’re done,” Zagreus suggested. “It’s the best way to use the daylight we have.”

The men looked at each other before nodding. “Take the dog then. Whistle if you run into trouble.”

“Will do,” Zagreus said, and the three of them parted ways.

The tracks did curl back around towards the northwest bluffs, but through what appeared to be a deeper part of the forest. Zagreus scrambled over boulders and slid down snow banks following Iphios, who forged ahead with his nose to the ground. 

“I feel bad for this bear,” he spoke to himself as they went, a habit he had picked up during his solitary wanderings in the woods. “Imagine waking up, thinking that spring was here as usual, only to find yourself still buried under five weeks of snow.”

Iphios rolled his eyes and wagged his tail at Zagreus.

“It’s not their fault for wanting to eat some warm, tasty goats. I don’t even like goat and I’d kill for a rack of their stringy ribs right now,” Zagreus said wistfully. He sucked in that sharp and cold air in hopes of shaking the restlessness of his limbs. “Still, we can’t let it go rampaging about.”

Dog and master vaulted over a fallen tree trunk and found themselves in a clearing, where the trees had been stripped of their bark. 

The bear had clearly been this way. 

Humor faded off Zagreus’ face as he reached for his bow and notched an arrow. He concentrated, listening for any sounds of movement in the snow-covered forest. In a low voice, he muttered to the dog, “Keep a lookout, boy. These tracks are fresh.” 

Zagreus had been right. The bear definitely hadn’t returned to its den yet. 

To his right, Zagreus heard the faint sound of snuffling. The clearing sloped away to a hill and he edged closer, keeping himself hidden behind the trees. Iphios pointed his nose down that slope, frozen and attentive.

There, at the bottom of the hill by the banks of the frozen river, sat a short girl dressed in animal pelts. 

Zagreus’ hands slackened on his bow. The girl had her arms around herself, hunching over with her shoulders shaking. Her dark hair ran tangled over her back, and the numerous pelts on her shoulders gave her a hulking appearance. 

A sound of a half-muffled sob jolted Zagreus into action.

“Excuse me?” he called out warily, slinging his bow back over his shoulder and stepping into view. Behind him, Iphios whined, flattening his ears back to his skull.

His voice startled her as she spun around to face him, crouched low on the bank. She looked about his age, though, with her face caked in mud and grime, it was hard to tell. Even from this distance, Zagreus could see where her tears had washed clear trails on her cheeks.

“Are you alright? My name is Zagreus. I’m from the local village. Do you need any help?” 

He approached her like he might a spooked horse, as her wild eyes darted frantically between Zagreus and his dog. His arrows rattled in his quiver as he slid down the snowbank and her eyes widened. 

“She’s sent you to kill me,” she rasped. Her voice was deep and guttural, as if she had not spoken in a long time. Zagreus stopped, startled.

“What? No! I’m not here to hurt you.” 

“Don’t play games with me, little shade. I can smell you. You reek of death,” she growled. Despite the anger in her voice, she wore a wretched expression, eyes red-rimmed and despairing. “Come then. I won’t let you take my head so easily.”

She dropped onto all fours with a grunt. Her back arched, and then, in front of Zagreus’ eyes, she swelled to three times her size, transforming into an enormous brown bear.

Zagreus gaped.

The girl-turned-bear growled, her shaggy flanks shuddering, and charged. 

Iphios, brave, loyal, foolish dog he was, jumped out to seize Zagreus by the back of his coat and tug him just out of the way. The huge bulk of the bear crashed into the trees behind him, with her gleaming teeth snapping. 

“Weak! You call yourself a hunter?” The sound of the girl’s voice booming out from the bear’s muzzle disoriented Zagreus for a moment. She snorted and pawed the ground. “I’ll show her I’m not such easy prey!”

Zagreus scrambled to his feet, pulling out his spear and holding it in front of himself defensively. “I’m not here to kill you! Can’t we just talk?”

She bellowed and swiped at Zagreus. His spear blocked the first strike, but the strength behind the swing knocked him off balance. A second enormous paw with long, sharp claws raked across his shoulder, ripping into his sleeve and flesh alike. 

“Shit!” he swore. The pain made his teeth rattle as blood welled up and soaked through his coat at once. 

Another few inches and she would have severed the tendons in his arm.

The bear lunged forward a second time and Zagreus frantically brought his spear point up. It caught her in her arm, but bounced off her thick hide. Just as she was about to bite down on Zagreus’ face, a brown blur of a furious hound leapt out and Iphios sank his teeth into her ear.

She bawled in pain and reared back on her hind legs, with Iphios still clamped firmly around her torn ear. With one paw, she tried to rip the dog off her head, but Iphios would not budge. Her claws caught his legs and blood poured onto his coat.

_She’s going to kill him._

Adrenaline surged through him at once and Zagreus charged. He forgot about his weapons, forgot about calling for help, forgot about anything besides taking this bear down. He grabbed her by its midsection, dodging the second set of claws coming down at him. With one hand forcing her jaws away from his face, he slammed into her hard with his full weight. 

Hunter, bear, and hound all fell down the hill with a crash.

The bear roared, as she hit the stony bank on her back. Crashing onto her heavy bulk, Zagreus gasped in pain as well. His injured arm exploded in blinding agony, but he gritted his teeth to keep her pinned. Iphios let out a whimper as he finally let go of her torn ear, collapsing by the river in a bloodied heap.

Panting, Zagreus shouted right into the bear’s face, “Stop it! I swear to you on the name of Lady Demeter, I don’t want to hurt you!”

The bear’s dark eyes met his. The rank smell from her shaggy coat and her huffing breath made Zagreus scrunch up his nose. Then, she reached up and swatted him off her with a growl. 

“Get off me!”

Zagreus went flying, bouncing hard on the riverbank. His head rattled as he tried to get up, bruises now peppering the entirety of his body. When he managed to get onto his knees, he saw she stood several meters away, huffing and pacing.

She had not used her claws that time. 

“What kind of hunter are you? No man can outwrestle a bear. You’d have to be mad to even try,” she barked, incredulity thick in her voice even as she panted.

A slightly manic laugh burst out of Zagreus, partially from the adrenaline and partially from the ongoing blood loss. He staggered to his feet. “Maybe I am. Now will you stop trying to kill me and let me tend to my dog? I can also take a look at that ear of yours.”

She huffed and shook her whole body, like a dog drying itself. Her left ear had been gnawed through and blood matted the fur. Glancing over at Iphios, she heaved a deep sigh and backed up a few steps.

“...pick up your weapons again and I’ll kill you.”

Zagreus obliged, setting down his quiver and his bow, before hurrying to Iphios’ side. The place where she had scored his hide with her claws bled, but the wound was not deep. Iphios’ tongue lolled out with frothy saliva and his eyes had gone wide and bloodshot as he trembled. Zagreus whispered soothing endearments as he uncorked his flask of drinking water. 

“There you go. You’re a good boy, aren’t you? You saved my life- ah, ow, don’t bite-” When the water hit the open wound, the hound had snapped at him reflexively, catching his arm. Zagreus endured the pinpricks of pain and, when he had finally washed out the dirt and grit, Iphios guiltily released his arm from his mouth. “It’s okay, boy, you didn’t hurt me. We’ll get you lots of treats and pets when we get home, okay?”

The hound whimpered and laid its head against Zagreus’ thighs as his master gave him a loving scritch behind his ears. The bear watched all of this quietly, from a distance. 

“I can take a look at your ear,” Zagreus called out. “If you promise not to rip my face off if it hurts.” 

“No Hunter of Artemis would ever let herself be nursed like a dog,” she grumbled. Zagreus raised his eyebrows.

“You’re a Hunter of Artemis? What are you doing roaming the countryside as a bear then?”

The bear huffed and then, to Zagreus’ surprise, she plopped onto her hindquarters. Slowly, she shrunk back into her form as a wild-looking girl clad in pelts. Blood ran down the side of her face, but she ignored it in favor of fixing the most unimpressed look at Zagreus. “Gods, you really aren’t the one sent to kill me. Hera would never send someone so stupid.” 

“Hey-! I mean, I’m definitely not some agent of death sent by Lady Hera, but still!” Zagreus scowled, before shuffling into a sitting position. “What happened though? I thought the Hunters of Artemis were always, you know, with Lady Artemis.”

“...Zagreus, right? My name is Callisto. I was a Hunter of Artemis, but she… cast me out recently. There was... a misunderstanding. But I’ve been trying to find my way back to her ever since,” she said before slumping down in the snow, looking exhausted. She brought a hand to her forehead and then winced at the feeling of blood on her face.

Zagreus felt a twinge of sympathy in his heart. “So that’s why you’re out here all alone.” 

“I.. I just want to apologize. But I’ve wandered all over the countryside in this damned snow and I can’t find neither hide nor tail of her. I was supposed to be the best tracker in all of the Hunters!” 

Frustration filled her expression and Callisto blinked rapidly as her eyes grew shiny and wet. Her whole body quivered with the effort of suppressing her tears.

“A-and because of this stupid misunderstanding, Hera has had it out for me. I’ve been chased by hunters and soldiers all up and down the mainland. I nearly starved several times because I can’t go into town without one of them finding me and stupid Demeter and her stupid winter means there’s nothing to eat. Hera means to kill me, I know it. I’ll never get to see my Lady again and apologize.”

The angry tears finally spilled over and her breathing grew heavy and ragged as she tried to stifle her sobs.

Now faced with a crying girl instead of a rampaging bear, Zagreus dared to scoot a little closer. He fished in his pocket and found a handkerchief. Callisto took it and blew her nose loudly. 

“Feel better?” He asked after her frustrated tears washed half the grime off her face.

“Not really. But thanks,” Callisto muttered, curling up into a ball of animal pelts and bear-girl. “You’re pretty nice, Zagreus. Sorry for trying to bite your face off earlier.”

“All is forgiven,” he said magnanimously. He held up his canteen of water and some bandages. “Should I take a look at the ear?”

Callisto hesitated before nodding. As Zagreus carefully dabbed the gashes in the earlobe with a wet handkerchief, she shuddered and let out a bitter laugh. “Why are you even helping me? I tried to kill you.”

“Does there have to be a reason? You seem down on your luck. I don’t know what’s going on between you and the gods, but…” Zagreus glanced skyward before continuing on, “I know they aren’t always the easiest to get along with.”

“The understatement of the century,” Callisto huffed, sounding remarkably like the bear she could become. She picked at the clotted blood and dirt under her fingernails as she mumbled, “You’re the first person to be nice to me ever since Hera cursed me. I don’t know if you’re immune because you’re a demigod or what-”

Zagreus blinked and pulled back. “You think I’m a demigod?” 

Cocking her head, she gave him a strange look, “You aren’t? I told you earlier, you smell like death. It’s just like… pouring off you. There must be something Chthonic in your blood. I can tell, because we nymphs hate that smell. It’s like… the fumes from a burned forest. No regular mortal smells like that.”

“So I smell super bad to your powerful bear nose. Good to know.” Zagreus grimaced. As he gave her a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding, he couldn’t help but add, “I don’t know who my parents are. I floated out of a magical river into my foster-family’s house. You think there’s a chance they came from the Underworld?”

“Maybe? I know some naiads that live in magical rivers, but none of them smell the way you do. I mean, it’s the Underworld. It’s not exactly for the living. Can’t imagine you’d have any living parents there. But…” Callisto turned her head to face Zagreus and, while keeping one hand up to her ear, sniffed deeply. “You also smell a little familiar. Like… oh I don’t know. There was a goddess who used to always visit our bower a long time ago. The flower one.” 

Zagreus furrowed his brow. “...Lady Demeter? I guess that makes sense, I was raised by her son.”

“No, not her. Her daughter with the weird name. Ah, that’s right,” Callisto snapped her fingers and gave Zagreus a bear-like huff of laughter. “Your scent reminds me of those flowers that Persephone was always bringing to the bower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:
> 
> [1] Philomenus or Philomelus is one of the sons of Demeter when she laid with the mortal shepherd Iasion. The union produced a set of twins, Plutus and Philomenus. Plutus was the wealthier of the two brothers and hoarded his riches jealously. Therefore Philomenus had to invent the plow and cultivate the fields in order to support himself through farming. He is represented in the constellation Boötes, the Ploughman. 
> 
> [2] Philomenus has one recorded son, Parias, who went on to found the town Parion. The people became known as the Parians.
> 
> [3] Mount Helicon lies on the Greek mainland in the region named Boeotia. It is north of the Gulf of Corinth and famous for its shrines to the Muses. 
> 
> [4] The Eurasian brown bear is the brown bear subspecies native to Greece. Although technically omnivorous, their diet was primarily carnivorous in antiquity, with their long canines suited for tearing into their prey. The average female bear weighs anywhere from 330 to 550 pounds depending on the season and has claws that could range from 2.9 to 3.5 inches long. Their thick fur and hide make them extremely difficult to take down with spears and arrows.
> 
>   
> ʕ； •`ᴥ•´ʔ
> 
> Update (11/12/2020): arkadraws has made some amazing [fanart of Thanatos holding Zagreus soul!](https://twitter.com/arkadraws/status/1321807794069143554) Thank you so much!


	4. The Lament of Callisto

It took Zagreus the better part of an hour to convince Callisto to come back with him to the farm. “The other hunters have set traps near your den. It’s not safe for you here anymore, now that they know a bear is in the region,” he told her. “At least come and get a hot meal before you take off.”

Callisto snorted. “And your family won’t try to trap me or sell me into slavery or skin me for my pelt?”

“No!” Zagreus exclaimed, horrified. “Philomenus is a generous and kind man. As long as you don’t turn into a bear and start eating our livestock, no one will even think to treat you badly.”

“...will you swear it?” 

Zagreus nodded enthusiastically, to the point Callisto raised her eyebrows.

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble with a promise you can’t keep one day,” she muttered, but got up with a wince. “Okay, I’m starving. Lead the way.”

Zagreus jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain from his hastily bandaged arm and the bruises all along his body. There was one other reason he wanted Callisto to come to the house. 

He wanted to hear more about this Persephone. 

They made slow progress, with Zagreus carrying Iphios and Callisto shouldering the rest of his supplies. The dog refused to get close to the nymph, who had unconsciously licked her lips in his direction. By the time they got back to the House, the sun had started to set. Sitting outside in the yard were the two other hunters, smoking their pipes.

Callisto stiffened and ducked behind a nearby shed. 

Zagreus hesitated, before going to meet them and calling out a boisterous greeting. “Hey guys! I’m back.”

“You’re injured! We wondered if we should have gone looking for you.” The hunters remarked, looking worried. 

They were all good men, Zagreus thought, but he couldn’t risk explaining the whole situation to them. So, plastering on a fake smile and kneeling to set down his dog, he boasted, “This is nothing! I got him back good for it. But he fell through the frozen river, so I lost the whole carcass to the water.”

“Seriously? That meat and pelt could have been worth a lot of money,” one of the men groaned. “Didn’t we tell you not to take it on yourself, Zagreus? Youngsters, I swear.”

Zagreus gave a sheepish laugh and pretended to look guilty. “Ah well, all well that ends well. You can go tell the neighbors they don’t need to stay up on lookout by the barns anymore.” 

The two men nodded and clapped Zagreus lightly on his back. “Good work, nonetheless. Go get yourself looked at.” 

Zagreus saluted them and watched until they had disappeared from sight on the road. “You can come out now,” he called. 

Callisto emerged with a sour look. “So you managed to ‘kill’ me?”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly tell them you killed me. But now, so long as you don’t go eating anyone’s goats, no one should be looking for you,” Zagreus replied cheerfully. He waved her in through a side entrance. It was late enough that everyone had probably retired to the living room around the fire, but he still wanted to avoid any other unexpected confrontations. Taking the nymph straight to Philomenus would help prevent any awkward rumors.

She sighed before stomping in after him and grumbling, “I know you’re right, but it still feels like an insult to my pride.”

“Don’t worry, you and I both know you can still rip my face off whenever you want to,” he assured her, earning him a sharp elbow to his ribs.

Philomenus, as Zagreus anticipated, accepted Callisto into his hospitality with the same grace and generosity he had when he brought Zagreus into his household. “Any friend of Artemis is a friend of ours,” he said, clasping her hands in friendship. She sized him up for a minute, before gripping back and bowing slightly. 

“You are wise, Son of Demeter. May the gods reward you for your virtuous heart.” When Callisto straightened up, the unearthly grace of her carriage and the solemnity in her expression, despite the mountain of ragged pelts on her back, made her look like a true servant of the gods. This faint whiff of her divinity had the rest of the household exchange nervous looks. 

Only Zagreus seemed unaffected, sitting upon the rug with Parias’ wide-eyed children and excitedly making up lies about how the two of them fought off twenty bears in the woods. Philomenus’ eyes slid over to him and Callisto followed his gaze. 

In a low voice, she remarked, “He’s a strange one, isn’t he?” 

“...The boy has a good heart, only matched by his curiosity. He has never seen a servant of the gods such as you, my lady,” Philomenus said fondly. He watched as Zagreus ruined his bandages in order to show off his wounds to the astonished children. 

Callisto cocked her head, “And you have?”

“I still remember my mother’s bower and all the nymph-children that once ran through the bountiful fields with my brother Plutus and I,” he replied with a sigh and then shook his head, “But that time has long since passed along with the brighter and warmer times of our land.”

“Your lady mother’s anger has not abated all these years after all. I have heard the other Olympians plead with her, but she is as immovable as the mountain itself,” Callisto huffed, arranging herself in a heap of furs in the corner of the sitting room. A servant brought her a plate of dried fruit and she fell upon the plate with the ravenous appetite of a starving bear, stuffing a whole fistful into her mouth. “Mmm, gods, this is good.” 

“Grandmother is angry? Is that the cause for this long winter then?” Parias asked his father in surprise. Interest piqued, Zagreus looked up from his storytelling circle. 

“I do not presume to know what is on my lady Mother’s mind,” Philomenus said quietly. “She has not shared her thoughts with me.” 

Parias winced and muttered an apology. 

Oblivious to the tension between his foster-father and brother, Zagreus piped up from the floor, “Actually, I wanted to ask you something, sir. Have you ever heard of a ‘Persephone’?” 

Philomenus froze. 

“Where did you hear that name?”

Zagreus glanced over at Callisto, who was busy waving to a servant for a pitcher of wine. Seeing the attention on her, she turned back and shrugged, “He just reminded me of her. It’s been ages since I’ve seen that particular child of Demeter. Decades, if not centuries. She was always rather nice. Down-to-earth for a goddess.”

“So Persephone is your sister, sir?” Zagreus eagerly looked to his foster-father for confirmation. 

Philomenus grimaced before nodding. “Half-sister. She was no demigod though. Persephone is— _was_ the Goddess of Verdure. But she was lost long ago, before I was ever born.”

“What happened?” Parias asked and he exchanged looks of surprise with Zagreus. Their father had never said anything about this divine sibling before. The mere mention of her looked as if it pained him.

“No one knows,” Callisto interjected, pausing from her attempt to drain an entire pitcher of wine. “Rumor is that she just up and disappeared one day. Lady Demeter spent years looking for her, but she never found her. She’s been in mourning ever since then. And when the Goddess of the Harvest is in mourning, well—” 

She gestured vaguely to the outside, where snow covered the fields and mountains. Zagreus frowned.

“But this Persephone, she’s a goddess, right? So, isn’t she immortal? That means she has to be out there somewhere…” he paused, before jumping to his feet in excitement. An idea had begun to take hold in his head. “And if we reunite Lady Demeter with her daughter, then maybe the harsh winters would stop—”

Philomenus held up a hand, interrupting his foster-son. “Please, no more.”

Ignoring him, Zagreus charged onwards, drunk on his own thoughts, “And maybe then Lady Demeter would bless us with her presence again—“ 

“Zagreus!” 

Philomenus’ raised voice silenced the boy for good this time. Parias gave his father a look of alarm and Zagreus was shocked, before flushing with shame. It was rare for their mild-mannered father to yell at them. The anger left Philomenus as soon as it came, though, and he sagged in his chair with a weary sigh. 

Quietly, he said, “Many times in my youth… I went in search of my half-sister. I thought I could please my lady mother if I was to reunite our family. But all the rumors were just that… stories and lies. It was.... No, it _is_ a hopeless mission.”

Philomenus’ admission silenced the living room and its weight, carrying years of unspoken loss, hung heavy over everyone’s heads. Parias stared at the ground, face burning at his father’s tale of humiliation, fists clenched. 

Only Zagreus stood standing upright, lips pressed together unhappily, as if words threatened to burst from them at any moment. Finally he could bear it no longer and blurted out, “Sir, still, should we not try again? If grief is what stops your lady mother from visiting, then isn’t Persephone the key to fixing your broken relationship—?”

“Zagreus, please… let it go.” Parias said, uncomfortable, tugging on his foster-brother’s shoulder.

“But—!” Zagreus looked pleadingly at Philomeneus. His foster-father shook his head sorrowfully. 

“Let me tell you the rest of the story, Zagreus. I labored for years, hoping that my mother would turn her fair face towards me and bless me with her affection. But in the end, her heart only drifted further from mine as the years went on. By then, the springtime of my youth had been wasted. While my brother Plutus learned the ways of the mines and grew richer than the kings of Thebes, I had to carve out a humble living here in the fields,” he paused and then smiled sadly, “I am, of course, grateful to live on this land and steward it in my lady mother’s name. I have been blessed with a loving family and loyal children. But let my story be a warning to you, Zagreus. For I know you too long for the love and favor of the gods.”

Zagreus grew very still. 

When Parias tried to put a hand on his shoulder, Zagreus unconsciously wrenched away with an agitated shrug. Remorse and regret soon followed, however, when he met Parias’ disapproving gaze. Swallowing hard and inhaling deeply, Zagreus muttered, “Excuse me. I’m going to take a walk to clear my head.”

Not meeting anyone’s eyes, he hurried out of the living room, shoulders coiled tight with tension. The whole room remained quiet as he walked away. 

In the corner, Callisto watched the exchange with her gleaming night-dark eyes. Then, raising her empty pitcher, she asked, 

“Can I have a refill?”

Zagreus tried to bring up the topic of Persephone a few more times to Philomenus, only to receive sighs and shakes of the head. The questions seemed to drain the color from his foster-father’s face each time and it wasn’t long after that Parias started angrily berating Zagreus for haranguing their father.

“Give it a rest, Zagreus! Can’t you focus on something useful, like helping me on these export numbers to Athens?” he would complain loudly. Nothing bored Zagreus quicker than being forced to sit in front of their enormous ledger with an abacus and so he started avoiding Parias whenever he could. 

Not one to give up so easily, he turned to the nymph Callisto next. 

“You said I reminded you of her,” he insisted again and again. 

“I also said you stink of death far more. Scent isn’t an exact art, Zagreus. It’s all very relative. Maybe you just all smell like children of Demeter from being cooped up in this house so long together,” she pointed out on one of their hunting trips into the woods. 

The nymph hated being penned up indoors even more than Zagreus, so whenever the weather permitted, they headed out in hopes of supplementing the dwindling larders of the house. Once Iphios had healed from his wounds, Callisto had spent several days befriending the hound through an aggressive system of bribery and now the hound happily raced next to them in the snows. 

Zagreus found himself growing fond of the brusque Hunter of Artemis, whose passion for the hunt was even greater than his own. She spoke of gods with devotion and respect, but they were also her companions and masters, instead of distant concepts that never visited their sons. Fascinated, Zagreus ate every single story up with a hunger he didn’t know he had. 

She told him of Lady Artemis’ sorrow at the death of the Athenian prince, Hippolytus, who only wished to hunt unencumbered by the passions of love and who had been punished by Lady Aphrodite. Of her anger when King Agamemnon boasted himself to be superior to the goddess herself and chose to sacrifice his daughter in order to raise the winds for war. Of her elation, shared with her beloved Hunters, when they pursued the monstrous children of Echidna all the way to the southernmost tip of the peninsula. 

All these stories inflamed Zagreus’ imagination. The world of gods and monsters never felt so _real_ to him, especially when Callisto would transform into a bear right in front of him. Nothing quite convinced him of gods like watching a five-foot-and-a-half girl turn into a three-hundred pound bear with razor sharp claws and teeth.

Not to mention, now that she wasn’t trying to kill him, watching her charge down a wild boar as a giant, shaggy bear was the _coolest_ thing Zagreus had ever seen. 

“Do you think, if I found out who my parents were, I’d be able to do something awesome like turning into a bear like you?” Zagreus asked. Callisto snorted in amusement.

“I doubt it? Unless your parents were also secretly nature spirits. You really have no idea who they are?” she asked, curiously.

He shook his head, frustrated. “No… I’ve been waiting so long. You’d think if they were divine gods, they’d send some sign or something. I have so many questions. Like why did they have to send me away. But meeting you was the first lead I’ve ever had.”

His hands went to where his tattered rat plush had been tucked against his chest, under his clothes. He had fished it out of his messy room to show Callisto, hoping for some new information. Instead, she just said it stank of Zagreus with a grimace. Still, he kept his childhood keepsake close now, for good luck, if nothing else.

Callisto gave him a warning look. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way. But as someone who is a lot, and I mean _a lot,_ older than you, I know humans love to think the Fates are on their side. They all think those three sisters are leading them to their so-called destinies,” Zagreus flinched at the pang of embarrassment that ran through him. Callisto, undeterred, continued, “But rarely is any of it what you expect. Will Demeter’s daughter have something to do with the mystery of your birth? Possibly. But you can’t just wait for the answers to come. As a mortal, you don’t have that much time in your life. You have to go out there and hunt them down yourself, Zagreus.” 

She punctured her point by smoothly drawing her bow and firing. Her arrow struck a rabbit hidden in the snow-fall right through the eye and she let out a satisfied huff.

“Maybe you’re right,” he muttered, as he watched her run excitedly to fetch her prey, “I just wish I knew where to start.”

Despite her distaste for mortal dwellings, Callisto ended up staying with them for the rest of the winter, until the long awaited spring finally came and the great thawing began. Everyone rejoiced at the first signs of snow-melt and the return of the sun’s warm rays. 

Everyone except for Zagreus.

Even though he had shared everyone’s desperate longing for warmer weather, he knew the arrival of spring meant Callisto’s departure. He had been secretly dreading it for a while now. After all, she was his one connection to the world of the gods and he still had so much to ask her. 

He had even asked her, in a fit of desperation, if she would like a travel companion. 

She had instantly turned him down. 

“Finding my Lady is something I have to do on my own,” she told him that night, when they sat alone by the hearth. In the firelight, her face took on the weight of her years, solemn and mournful, so different from the youthful delight she wore during their hunts. 

"What exactly happened between you two, if you don't mind me prying? It seems like a complicated situation you're caught up in," Zagreus asked softly.

Callisto didn't speak for several minutes and her fingers twisted and dug into the fur of her pelts. She reached up to tuck her dark hair behind her ears, and then winced when her fingertips touched the gnawed remains of her right one. Remembering her wild-eyed despair that day in the snow, Zagreus’ own scars on his arm ached.

Finally, she said, hesitantly, "It’s a tale rife with the consequences of my own foolish decisions. My Lady's father is... as you know, the King of Gods, Lord Zeus, himself. He cares deeply for her, but I can't say he truly knows her at all. He never understood why my Lady has no interest in marriage or the company of men. So... one day, he approached me with this plan. I was to arrange for my Lady to be in a certain place and time so she could meet a suitable marriage candidate that Lord Zeus himself had chosen. He knew my Lady would not deny me my request, given the... closeness of our friendship."

Zagreus frowned, dread rising in his heart. "I don't like where this is going."

"Neither did I at the time. I wanted to refuse, but... angering the King of Gods is a hard thing to do, when you're just a nymph. He was… persistent even after I tried to turn him down. Nor did I want my Lady to fight with her father. I thought... well, no one could force a goddess of her stature into doing anything, so she would just meet this man and reject him. The King would finally understand she was not interested and I could explain I was pressured. The matter would thus be resolved,” Callisto’s face hardened for a moment. “...I was a coward.”

“...How so?” Zagreus asked, feeling breathless. A strange pain had stirred within him, as if something of Callisto’s story had plucked the strings of his heart like a mourning lyre.

“Because I feared the consequences of angering Lord Zeus more than I cherished my Lady. I should have defended her interests, her choices, even if it meant my death in defiance. What a poor follower of Artemis I was!” Callisto said bitterly, curling up tighter into herself, ”So, as you can imagine, it all went wrong. My Lady thought I was treacherous. That I was trying to trick her to leave her vows of maidenhood so I could gallivant around with men myself. She exiled me out of the Hunters that day and killed the man who thought he could woo her." 

"...And Hera? You mentioned before she was after you."

"Because Lord Zeus went around her back to arrange a marriage. And she's... protective of her domain. She cannot punish her husband directly, so she directs her anger at me instead, thinking me a co-conspirator. Without my Lady's protection, she's free to inflict however many petty revenges on me as she wishes," Callisto paused before hurling a stick into the fire with a snort, "...I don't care about her though. Zagreus… I can’t forget my Lady’s face when she discovered my deception. I... don't think I can forgive myself for putting that pain in her heart as long as I live. That's why I want to find her one last time." 

In the silence following Callisto’s story, the only sounds that could be heard were the sparks crackling through the firewood. Tentatively, Zagreus reached out and gripped her hand. It was the only comfort he could offer her. She stiffened for a moment, before squeezing back. 

Something in Zagreus’ chest tightened— in sympathy, in pain, in fellowship. 

He muttered, "If Lady Artemis knew how you felt, she would have never sent you away. I'm sure you'll be able to find her. I'll do whatever is in my power to help. It's not right... for the truth to be buried like this and for you to be punished like this." 

Callisto's eyes danced with the wild light of the flickering flames. "I hope so. Nymphs live long lives, but we aren't immortal. If I die on this quest and get taken to the Underworld, I'll never get to see her again. I would rather suffer a thousand arrows than have that be my fate."

The day of Callisto’s departure was the same day the _agora_ finally reopened for business. The first merchants were back in town from across the mainland, peddling their wares after a long winter of scarcity. The sun shone weakly through the clouds and snow had started to finally melt in the fields.

The whole House came out to say farewell, which had Callisto flushing to the tip of her nose. The children of the House were particularly distraught, and wouldn’t stop crying. 

“Pah, if I had known this was going to happen, I would have slipped out last night,” Callisto muttered. She awkwardly squatted down and patted one of Parias’ daughters on her head, “Grow up to be strong and nimble, like the Silver Huntress herself, small one.”

Philomenus smiled and said, “You are always welcome back, Hunter of Artemis.” 

“You hear that? You’re one of us now,” Zagreus chortled and Callisto let out a bear-like huff.

“Have you thought about joining the Hunters instead, Zagreus? If you forswear both men and women and take an oath of celibacy, my Lady has been known to take even those of your persuasion,” she said, eyes twinkling. Zagreus let out an awkward laugh. 

“Ah, I’m honored. But I’m not sure I could make such an oath in good faith. You never know what might happen in the future, you know?” 

Callisto snorted in amusement. “The commentary of a hopeless romantic.”

Zagreus insisted on walking Callisto all the way to the _agora_ gates and so they set out together. Reveling in the hard-packed earth under his bare feet and the fresh spring air on his face, Zagreus strode down the road with an off-tune whistle on his lips. Callisto, on the other hand, looked contemplative, taking in the countryside with a keen eye. 

“A fine day for travel,” she murmured to herself.

When they reached the _agora,_ they found it packed with villagers, eager to do some shopping after a long winter of seclusion. Callisto stiffened at the crowd, but with all the merchants and other foreigners pouring into the square, she remained relatively unnoticed, despite her animal skin pelts and wild hair. Only a dirty-looking beggar sitting in an alley seemed to discern her divinity, staring dumbstruck at her with wide blue eyes.

Callisto wrinkled her nose and ducked closer behind Zagreus’ bulk. “That man stinks of death just like you,” she complained.

“So all this time you said one of my parents might be from the Underworld was a lie? You were just saying I smelled nasty?” Zagreus exclaimed in mock offense. He took a sniff at himself, but didn’t find anything particularly objectionable. Extending his arm, he inclined his chin, “I smell fine! See for yourself!”

Pushing his arm away in disgust, she hissed, “No-! I told you, it’s not that precise! You both just reek of sulfur and scorched forests. Ugh, forget it. I need a new knife.” 

Zagreus tagged behind her as she stomped through the stalls, but he took his time browsing the wares. All the while, he kept his ears peeled to the gossip of the _agora._ Stories of the long winter were everywhere. Every once in a while, though, there were some interesting tall tales about monsters haunting the countryside. One merchant even swore that he saw a skeleton roaming the countryside, crying out for his son. 

“Some say he’s a shade who lost his son during a winter storm. When he died, no one could give him the proper burial rites, so he was cursed to wander the earth,” The merchant said, lowering his voice and wiggling his fingers, “He challenges all the men who happen upon him to battle, in hopes of finding his precious boy that can strike him down and lay him to rest.”

“Now that’s not even scary, that’s just sad,” Zagreus remarked, raising his eyebrows, “Someone should just give him an obol and lay him to rest.”

The merchant puffed up indignantly. “It’s true, I swear it.”

Callisto scoffed, losing interest nearly at once, and went to go examine a rack of knives. Zagreus lingered however. Something had caught his eye. Holding up a stuffed bear that had a scowl that reminded him of his friend, he needled the merchant, “Sure, let’s say I believe you. Will that convince you to give me a discount on this toy?” 

“Are you trying to fleece me, young master?” The merchant cried out. “Don’t you see the workmanship on this article? I’m selling at a loss already.”

“I highly doubt that,” Zagreus snorted. Turning back over his shoulder, he called Callisto, “Do you think this is worth five obols, ma’am?” 

“I wouldn’t pay two obols for it,” she said, without even looking up. The merchant gasped in outrage.

Zagreus shrugged with a grin. “You heard the lady. So, let’s do three and call it a day.” 

The merchant’s bottom lip trembled. “I—”

All of a sudden, Zagreus felt Callisto’s hand fall heavy on his shoulder and jerk him down to her eye level. He nearly toppled over when she hissed into his ear,

“Something’s wrong.”

Disoriented, Zagreus followed her gaze out into the _agora._ He saw nothing but the milieu of merchants and villagers, going about their daily business. “What are you talking about-?”

Just as the words left his mouth, a crash from the right had Zagreus and Callisto whipping around. 

The grimy beggar that Callisto had pointed out earlier leapt past them, ramming through several stalls at a dead sprint. His wild rush knocked several enormous jars to the ground and the pottery shattered all over the flagstones. People screamed as they jumped away from his mad charge. 

As he hurtled past the two of them, Zagreus caught the gleam of an expensive-looking sword at his belt. 

“I’m going after him—!” he shouted, shoving the stuffed bear back at the merchant. Callisto took off as well, seizing her bow, and peeled off for a different angle. After weeks of hunting together, no words needed to be exchanged between them. 

They tracked the fleeing beggar easily thanks to the wake of destruction he left in his path. When they reached the open forum, ringed with marble columns, the beggar took a moment to look behind him, slowing his steps for just a moment. 

That was Zagreus’ chance. Sprinting at a flat dash, he tackled the beggar, sending them both down hard on the stone. Callisto was not far behind, drawing her bow in a single fluid motion. 

“What are you doing?” Zagreus shouted, as the old man under him writhed and spat. Like he suspected, the beggar was dense with muscle underneath his ragged cloak, and it took all of Zagreus’ strength to keep him from being thrown off. 

“Let go of me, you fool! She’s coming!” the beggar hissed, eyes bulging with fear. His stale breath washed over Zagreus’ nostrils unpleasantly. 

“Not until you explain yourself! You can’t just wreck half the _agora_ and then take off!” 

“You want gold? Give the name Oxyntes to the gates of Athens and they’ll give you enough gold to fix this backwater town twice over. Now let me go!” With a heave of strength, Oxyntes kneed Zagreus right in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and threw him to the side. Zagreus hit the ground, coughing and swearing. Oxyntes shot to his feet, only to go cross-eyed at the arrow pointed at his forehead. 

Clad in her pelts and dark eyes full of disgust, Callisto said quietly, “It’s the end of the line for you already.”

Oxyntes’ face darkened, face twisting with ugly recognition. “Another goddamned nymph,” he spat. Still, he dared not move when she was an inch from putting an arrow through his skull. 

“It’s not me you should be worried about. I’m not your executioner,” Callisto said evenly, jerking her head to the entrance of the square. 

Oxyntes turned to look over his shoulder and then paled. 

A strange, statuesque woman walked towards them, taller than everyone in the square, wrapped in dark green robes and a deep purple _himation_ , bound around her torso. She had covered her head, so only her pale, dry lips could be seen. In her hand was a bull-whip, made of a strange, shimmering green leather. When she raised her head to look at them, Zagreus gave a start.

Her face was like a skull, with her eyes sunken into her face and her nose slashed off.

"Mmurrderrrrrer..." Her voice was a sibilant hiss and she pointed directly at Oxyntes, who quailed under her gaze. Callisto winced at the sound of her voice and backed off a few steps. 

Zagreus stared between them, hesitating. Then, he stepped out between them with his hands outstretched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:
> 
> [1] The Goddess Artemis is well-recorded for having many hunting attendants with her, as part of the ten promises she extracted from her father Zeus in her youth. Popularly referred to as the Hunters of Artemis, her attendants ranged from nymphs to mortal women. All of them were required to take the same vow of chastity as their Goddess. 
> 
> [2] Although men were not explicitly forbidden from joining the Hunters, we do not know of many who did. The most famous example, however, must be Hippolytus, the ill-fated son born from Theseus, King of Athens, and the Amazon Queen Hippolyta. Hippolytus' vow of chastity, love for the Hunt, and disinterest in romantic pastimes inflamed Aphrodite's anger and the Goddess of Love cursed his stepmother, Phaedra, to fall in love with him. When he rejected her, Phaedra subsequently accused him of assaulting her and killed herself in despair. Theseus, believing his wife over his son, thus exiled Hippolytus and called down a curse from his father, Poseidon, which killed the youth as he fled Athens. The truth only came out when Artemis herself appeared to rage against Theseus. Cleared of wrongdoing, Hippolytus then died in his father's arms. 
> 
> [3] The canonical telling of Callisto's story I will not recount here, and readers interested in that sad tale may find it easily elsewhere. 
> 
> [4] The agora is a central common space at the heart of most ancient Greek cities. It is the political center of the city, where markets are held, soldiers are mustered, and public debates are held. Its function as both a commercial and political space meant that all free citizens would find it their civic duty to participate in some manner around the agora. 
> 
> [5] A himation is a piece of outerwear wrapped over the chiton, usually thrown over the left shoulder and fastened either above or under the right shoulder. It was a large oblong piece of cloth, sometimes woolen, and oft seen worn by clothed figures in Greek statues. Women sometimes wore it over their head to veil themselves in public.


	5. The Scourge of the Furies

The whip-bearing woman faltered at the sight of Zagreus, looking confused. Behind him, Oxyntes had frozen in shock while Callisto hissed, “What the hell are you doing-?”

“Um, excuse me,” Zagreus addressed the woman. “Are you accusing this man of murder?”

Belatedly, he had the sudden realization this woman likely wasn’t human. Not with the way her eyes seem to light up in her eye sockets, the way she drifted across the ground like a ghost, and the unnatural blue-ish tinge to her skin. She cocked her head owlishly at him. 

“Murder…?”

Callisto growled urgently at Zagreus, “That’s one of the bloody Erinyes! You don’t talk to them!” 

_Oh gods, she’s a Fury._

The Fury’s glowing eyes slid over towards the nymph, who shuddered and stepped back a little further. Then, cracking her whip on the flagstones of the square, the Fury repeated to Zagreus, “Mmmurderer…” 

“The boy’s insane...” Oxyntes mumbled. His eyes darted frantically from the arrow Callisto still had pointed at him to the whip in the Fury’s hand. 

Even though he could feel the sweat rolling down his temple, Zagreus forced a polite smile and addressed the Fury, “If this man has committed any wrongdoing, we need to take him to the local courts. But you can’t simply whip this man in the middle of the agora for no reason. Can you tell me what he did wrong?”

“...Murder,” she said sullenly. Oxyntes flinched. A small crowd of brave onlookers had started to gather in the _agora,_ muttering and staring. 

“...Okay, any other words besides ‘murder’? How about a name? Who did he allegedly murder?” Zagreus tried instead. Behind him, Callisto let out an agonized groan.

“...Urghhh...mmmm,” the Fury struggled, before losing her patience. She reached into her robes and unfastened the _himation_ around her torso. It unfurled behind her, and Zagreus realized, with dawning horror, that it was a single, enormous violet wing.

Everything happened at once. Panicking, Oxyntes turned heel to flee. With her wing free, the Fury charged right past Zagreus in the air, shrieking about murder. Callisto hastily tried to adjust her shot to avoid hitting the incoming Fury and her arrow missed altogether. Zagreus whipped back around, arm outstretched, shouting, “No, wait-"

The Fury’s whip snapped out to ensnare Oxyntes’ ankle. He fell onto the ground, face-first, with a scream. His sword fell out of the sheath, clattering onto the flagstones, as she dragged him back. 

“Help me-!” the beggar cried. 

Callisto had frozen off to the side with uncertainty keeping her bow and arrow slack in her hands. But Zagreus did not hesitate. He grabbed the sword off the ground and cut the Fury’s whip in half with a wild swing. She let out a furious growl, as Zagreus stepped between her and her prey, sword in hand.

“Thank you, young man,” Oxyntes coughed as he scrambled to his feet. 

His thanks was cut off, however, when Zagreus swung his arm around so the blade kissed Oxyntes’ throat.

“If she won’t tell us, you have to. Who are you? What was your crime?” he demanded in a low voice, not daring to take his eyes off the skull-faced woman in front of him. “I’m not one to tell a Fury she’s wrong. If you don’t explain yourself, I’m not going to stop her from hauling you off.”

The Fury cracked her whip against the floor again. The whip grew back to its original length right before their eyes. “Mmmurrr…?”

Oxyntes' voice climbed high in hysteria. “You must believe me. I am innocent! I didn’t kill her. It was just an accident-!”

“ _Her?_ ” Something cold and terrible filled Zagreus’ veins. He risked a furious glance backwards at the wide-eyed beggar. “Who did you kill-?!” 

But Zagreus had run out of time. Clearly not interested in listening quietly, the Fury reared back and swung her whip. Zagreus quickly brought the sword up to defend himself, but, while he was distracted, from behind him, Oxyntes rushed forward and slammed a shoulder into Zagreus’ ribs. Knocked off-balance, Zagreus stumbled to the side and, with a vicious tug, Oxyntes wrest the sword from his hands. The tussle between the two men sent the whip off-mark and it landed with a sickening crack across Zagreus' exposed chest. 

“Argh-!” he swore as fresh blood splattered into the dust and seeped under his _chiton._ Clutching the wound, Zagreus staggered backwards.

Oxyntes raised his sword and charged past him with a cry of desperation. The Fury hissed as she dodged gracefully, spinning and thrashing out with her whip. Green fire flew off her in arcs, shattering the nearby tables and sending the marketplace audience scattering in a panic. Jolted into action, Callisto ran into the crowd, grabbing civilians and hauling them out of the way of the hellish fire. Seeing Zagreus still hovering at the edge of the battle, she bellowed, “Get out of there!”

The Fury, blind to everything but her target, screamed again, “ _Murderer!”_

Zagreus could just barely dodge the fire, let alone find another weapon and get close enough to the two combatants. He turned on his heel and dove into the crowd. Running past screaming townspeople, he spotted a rack of spears by the blacksmith and grabbed one off the rack. He nodded to the blacksmith, who had been hiding inside his forge, and said cheerfully, “Going to just borrow this for a second, sir. I’ll return it when we’re done.”

The blacksmith gave him a shaky nod, before his eyes went wide. 

“Look out-!” he cried.

Before he could even turn around, Zagreus felt a sharp pull from the back of his _chiton,_ and he was thrown to the ground like a ragdoll. Startled, he lifted his head from the floor just in time to see a burst of green fire pass harmlessly over his head and ignite the entire rack of spears.

Just a second later and his head would have been engulfed in flame. 

He scrambled to his feet, looking behind him, but there was no sign of who had just shoved him away from danger. Callisto was halfway across the _agora_ still, a dark blur of pelts and arrows.

“Boy, who was that?” The blacksmith from inside the forge had turned sheet-white and trembled as he spoke, “N-not who, but _what-”_

In the distance, a bell tolled.

Zagreus opened his mouth to ask the same question, when the sounds of battle quieted with a sickening gurgle. When he looked over at the Fury and Oxyntes, he realized he was too late. 

Oxyntes laid on the ground, his beard streaked with dirt and blood and his sword broken. The Fury had stepped on his head and her whip bound so tightly that rivulets of blood ran where it cut into him. The ground around them rippled and began to swallow them up. 

_She’s dragging him to the Underworld._

“Wait, wait—” Zagreus started to run over, but the Fury looked up and glared at him. She raised one terrible pale hand and pointed at him.

“Zah…greus…?”

Startled, he skidded to a stop, hands sweaty on his spear. “Y-yes?” 

_How does she know my name?_

Her eyes flashed. “Zahh...greus…mmmmm...urghhh...” she hissed. For a moment, she looked conflicted, glancing between the moaning beggar under her feet and Zagreus. Then she snarled and shook her head. With a flash of green light so bright that he had to shield his eyes, both the Fury and Oxyntes vanished into the bowels of the earth, leaving only a deep crack in the middle of the town square. 

Zagreus stood there frozen, spear still in hand, with a deep and dreadful sense of foreboding in his heart.

“How stupid do you have to be to get between a Fury and her prey?” Callisto growled as she watched Zagreus get bandaged up by a local doctor. The gash across his right breast had left blood all down the front of his _chiton_ and, to Zagreus’ dismay, some of it had even dribbled onto his beloved rat plush, which had been tucked inside the folds.

“Sorry, buddy. I’ll get you cleaned up at home,” he muttered, thumbing a bloodstain on a yellow cotton ear.

Callisto, on the other hand, was completely unhurt. She had saved several villagers from the Fury’s fire and they had clustered around her, offering gifts of gratitude. Callisto had no patience for this, waving them off brusquely. Still, when Zagreus suggested she didn’t have to worry about him and could get going, she scowled at him.

“Everything about this is worrying,” she gestured at his entire body. “And especially this head of yours. What are you thinking?” 

With a hard knuckle, she knocked him right on the forehead. 

“I just…” Zagreus barely noticed the tap, too focused on all the questions jangling in his head to pay it much mind. He ended up blurting out the first one that came to mind, “She knew my name. Why did she know my name?”

Callisto wrinkled her nose. “The reason can’t be good. Maybe you’re cursed the same way that man was. That’s why you two stink the same.”

“But I’ve never killed anyone! And besides, we don’t even know the details of what that man did!” Zagreus protested.

“I thought the Fury was pretty clear on that.” She ticked off on her fingers, flippantly, "Murder, murder, and, let's not forget, murder."

“But who did he murder? Is there someone out there who has a missing sister or a missing daughter? Or what if they’re still looking for this man now?” Zagreus shot back. 

Callisto cocked her head in surprise. “That’s why you were meddling? You were thinking about all of that?”

“Wasn’t that obvious?” Zagreus gave her an irritated look. Callisto frowned back, before sighing.

“You should just be satisfied that divine justice was meted out. No mortal could match the punishments of Tartarus. Hades will take care of the rest,” she said and shrugged in resignation. "It's not our job to question divine wrath. In fact, I'd say it can be downright dangerous for you to do so." 

Zagreus made a noise of agitation, but fell silent. His next words would verge on blasphemy if he continued and he knew that would get him nowhere with her. Still, he couldn't help but mutter, “I guarantee that this is going to cause problems somewhere, somehow.”

That, at least, got Callisto to soften towards his frustration. With a wry smile, she admitted, “You’re probably right.”

Zagreus ended up relaying what Oxyntes had told him to the village chief and suggested sending someone to give his name to the gates of Athens. “Maybe he had family in Athens that could pay for the repairs,” he suggested. 

“I suppose it could not hurt to send word,” the chief said reluctantly. It was clear no one particularly wanted anything to do with the cursed beggar. The cheer in the _agora_ had vanished after the incident and both Zagreus and Callisto had lost their appetite to stay much longer. As soon as it was clear the villagers had the rest of the clean up under control, the two of them slunk off to the town gate. 

“You’re going to be okay, getting back on your own?” Callisto said gruffly, shouldering her travel pack. Zagreus gave her a crooked smile and patted his bandaged chest gingerly.

“Yeah, this is nothing compared to the time you nearly ripped my arm off. So you’re heading out?”

She nodded and said, “I’ve lingered too long. Lady Artemis would laugh at me for spending a whole winter huddled up on a farm.” 

Zagreus hesitated just for a moment, before the words came spilling out of him, "You really love her, don't you?"

Callisto gave him a sharp look and her nostrils flared for a second. Then, she turned to look into the woods, a faraway look in her deep brown eyes. In a voice thick with heartache, she murmured, "It's complicated, the affairs of gods and mortals. Pray you never experience it yourself, Zagreus. For me, my Lady is..."

She trailed off. The weight of her silence made heat rise to Zagreus’ cheeks and he hurriedly said, "You don't have to put it into words for me. You should save those words for her. I’m sure that she’ll want to hear them.”

The Hunter of Artemis turned to study him for a long minute, before giving him a rare and toothy smile. 

“I’ll see you again someday, Zagreus. Call it a hunch, but… the Hunt brings people together at the strangest times.” Then she punched him in the arm. Hard.

"Ow-" Zagreus protested. While it didn’t quite have the force of a bear behind it, he still staggered back with a wince.

As he rubbed the sore spot, she dug into her pack and pulled out something small and brown. “Here, a token of friendship. It cannot fully repay the kindness you have shown me, but I hope it will suffice for now.” She placed in his hands the stuffed bear he had been haggling for at the market. It was so round that its paws nearly disappeared into its plush body and its tiny sewn mouth scowled up at him. 

Something in Zagreus’ chest tightened. Before the nymph could move away, he bent down and wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a crushing embrace. His fingers dug into the fur of her pelts and he inhaled the spicy scent of pine needles. "Be safe," he murmured. "I'm going to miss you."

Callisto stiffened in his arms at first, before she relaxed and gingerly embraced him back. Then, after half a minute, she reached up and whispered slyly into his ear, "You know, you really should have waited until I shifted."

Zagreus jerked back at once, face full of utter dismay. "You would have let me hug you as a bear? All this time?" 

Callisto grinned. She pulled away and started walking down the road. “Better luck next time, Zagreus!” she called over her shoulder and cheekily waved farewell.

“That’s not fair! I didn’t know that was on the table!” he shouted back at her and her laughter rang high into the clear blue sky.

He remained by the gate, watching as Callisto grew smaller and smaller in the distance, until she was but a speck on the foothills. Then, at the edge of the forest, her silhouette changed, growing large and shaggy, right before she disappeared amidst trees. 

Spring gave way to the heat of summer, to everyone’s relief. The crops seemed to be growing well, in a large part thanks to the endless effort by Philomenus and Parias. The tale of the Fury in the _agora_ faded from gossip and hope for the coming harvest buoyed everyone’s spirit.

Everyone except for Zagreus. 

For the last several weeks, he had been coming up with a plan. He took to spending long hours in the _agora,_ staring at the maps in the garrison and stocking his own pockets with coins, thanks to odd jobs here and there. Callisto’s words rested constantly in the back of his mind. Answers of his heritage, of where he belonged, would not come from waiting until he was old and grey on the farm. He had secretly consulted with local oracles, who all suggested visiting the great temples across the countryside, and Zagreus figured that was as good a place as any to start making his name.

Maybe, while he was at it, he could also inquire after Lady Demeter on behalf of his foster-father.

He came home one day from one of these information-gathering trips and found Philomenus waiting for him in the foyer.

“Sir?” Zagreus asked, setting down his bags, “Did you need something from me?”

“Walk with me, Zagreus,” Philomenus said, with a small smile. “I’d like to talk to you.”

They made their way to the small shrine in the back of the yard. Here was where Philomenus kept a small statue of his mother and poured libations to her each morning. The gleaming white marble and the carefully tended flower beds made the alcove the handsomest part of the house. In the center of the altar stood a painted statue of Demeter, smiling mysteriously down at a babe in her arms. Philomenus reached for the pitcher of wine, but as his hands shook on the heavy handle, Zagreus quickly grabbed the pitcher before it spilled. 

"Here, sir," he said and carefully poured the wine into the shallow dish, the _phiale_ , before handing it to his foster-father. Philomenus looked at his ward fondly and shook his head.

"You know the words, Zagreus," he said. He gestured at the statue of his mother. 

Zagreus froze in surprise. The duty of pouring libations was the responsibility for the head of the house and Philomenus had performed the duty for as long as Zagreus could remember. Frantic implications ran through his head before Philomenus took in his look of alarm and let out a gentle laugh.

"Be at peace, I am not asking you to give this offering as my heir. That burden... the duty to keep this land flowering will remain Parias'. No, I wish for you to pour this offering for yourself, Zagreus. You intend to leave soon, do you not?"

Shocked, Zagreus stared at his foster-father. He opened his mouth several times before he managed to choke out several strangled words, "You knew? Wait, does this mean… I can go? Even though we haven’t finished the harvest yet—"

His foster-father's mouth quirked into an amused smile. "You're asking for permission? I know your bags have been packed in your room for the last three weeks."

Zagreus winced. Discovered again. His hands trembled on the _phiale_ and a little wine splashed onto the earth below. Lowering his head, he murmured, "Of course I ask your permission. Sir... you are still my father, after all."

Philomenus reached up and ruffled Zagreus' hair with his shaky hands, weathered and calloused from years of hard labor. A little hay fell out of those black locks, making the old man smile. 

"We'll be fine, Zagreus. It is the duty of parents to worry for their children, not for their children to worry for their parents. Ever since Callisto came to our House, I knew it could not be long until you had to go out and meet your destiny. I actually received a letter from Polycaste, berating me on the matter,” Philomenus smiled ruefully, shaking his head. “We all agree. You must go live your life as you see fit, Zagreus.”

“Polycaste?” Zagreus exclaimed, in surprise. He had not seen his foster-sister in a couple years, despite their ongoing correspondence. The knowledge she had been looking out for him despite the distance in their lives now made his knees tremble. He swallowed hard and said, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much, both of you.”

Such simple words of gratitude were not enough. They would never be enough, but at least he could start there.

Carefully, he turned back to the altar. With slightly shaky hands, he poured the wine out of the _phiale_ and spoke the appropriate words, beseeching the Earth Mother, the King of Gods, and the grey-eyed Goddess of Wisdom in turn to bless his journey. 

Then, Zagreus squeezed his eyes shut and whispered under his breath, "Father and Mother who are yet unknown to me, please, send me a sign. Let the gods lead me to you and find you whole and unharmed. Show me where I came from."

As the wine hit the earth, it soaked into the dust. Zagreus waited, and then sighed, disappointed but not surprised. He had seen Philomenus perform hundreds of libations after all and nothing had ever occurred in any of them. 

He turned around, ready to pour the rest of the pitcher for his foster-father, when the ground lurched underneath him. Philomenus’ eyes widened.

It was an earthquake.

The tremors worsened at once, rippling through the earth and throwing Zagreus to the ground. The pitcher in his hand smashed onto the stone, gushing wine into the dirt. His foster-father fell to his feet as the ground roiled sickeningly. Across the farm, cries of panic mixed with the groans of buildings arose in a terrible cacophony. Great flocks of birds took to the skies in alarm, screeching and wheeling over the sun. A great shadow fell over the land.

Zagreus tried to brace himself, but there was nothing to hold onto, nothing but the ground-shaking tremors that reduced his limbs to jelly. Philomenus tried to struggle up and fell to his knees a second time. The world tilted, once, twice—

Then, a deep roar came from the bowels of the earth, distorted and strange. The sound sent a chill right down Zagreus' bones, as if his soul knew this low, booming voice and the fury within it.

It had sounded as if it came from the Underworld itself. 

Finally, the earth slowly quieted. The lingering tremors vibrated up Zagreus’ arms and legs, but he managed to shakily straighten up. He staggered over to his foster-father and helped him back to his feet. 

“Sir, are you okay?” he asked.

Although pale with sweat, Philomenus muttered, "I’m fine, I’m fine. Zagreus, go check to see if anyone is injured—"

Before he could finish, his knees buckled and he collapsed with great hacking coughs. Horror raced through Zagreus at the sudden green tinge on Philomenus’ sun-bronzed skin. 

"Father!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:
> 
> [1] One of the most common ritual practices in Ancient Greece was the libation: the act of pouring wine or other liquids such as honey, milk, or even blood, onto the earth as an offering to a deity. Often performed by the head of the household, the supplicant would pour wine from a jug called an oinochoē into a shallow dish called the phiale. The liquid in the phiale would be poured onto the ground, accompanied with prayers to the gods. The rest of the wine in the oinochoē would then be drunk by the participants. 
> 
> [2] Earthquakes are common in Greece, due to the numerous fault lines between the Aegean Sea Plate and its neighbors. The Hellenic Arc, a subduction zone extending from the westmost Ionian islands to the eastern island of Rhodes, is filled with active and dormant volcanoes, making it one of the most seismically active regions in western Eurasia.


	6. Death and I

“How is he?” Zagreus asked later that evening when Parias emerged from Philomenus’ quarters. The sun had started to set and the long shadows it cast across the living room shrouded his foster-brother’s expression. When he staggered on his feet crossing the room, Zagreus quickly went to fetch him a stool. 

Sitting down heavily, Parias murmured, “Not well. His breathing is shallow and he keeps drifting in and out of consciousness. I fear his heart may be giving out.”

“Euthalia should be back soon with the doctor. I also sent a messenger to Polycaste. She’ll want to come back,” Zagreus said, shifting restlessly on his heels. He had wanted to go, feeling out-of-place sitting at home and waiting, but his sister-in-law had talked him down. 

“Look after Parias for me,” Euthalia had insisted before her expression turned sorrowful. “Besides, Father will need you by his side.”

Zagreus wasn’t sure about that. He had a sinking feeling of guilt ever since the earthquake that afternoon. Such a catastrophe could only be an ill omen from the gods themselves. Still, he kept his suspicions to himself for now. 

The gods could wait. Their father was dying. 

“Get some rest. Have you eaten anything all day? I’ll watch over him,” he urged, putting a steadying hand on Parias’ back. Through the cloth of his _chiton,_ Zagreus could feel how he trembled and it made Zagreus sick to his stomach. 

His foster-brother had always been a paragon of steadiness, as if he had put roots down himself into the earth. Now, it felt as if a single errant breeze could topple him over. 

“Things were getting better. Spring had finally come. I… I had hoped...” Parias’ words trailed off and then he buried his face into his hands with a low groan. “What did we do to deserve this?”

 _Nothing._ That was the worst of it. The long winter, the unnatural earthquake, their father’s failing health— they were mortals in the hands of uncaring gods and there was nothing they had done to deserve it. Zagreus could only quietly rub his brother’s back and pray, furiously, angrily, for the faintest glimmer of hope. 

Finally, Parias scrubbed away his tears and croaked, “Go on, Zagreus. Someone should stay by him in case he wakes up.” 

“You’ll be okay?” Zagreus asked worriedly, stepping back to give him his space.

Parias shook his head, before closing his eyes. Age settled into his face as he inhaled and, when he reopened his eyes, someone older and wearier had stepped into his body.

“I have to be. Now go.”

Zagreus hesitated, before nodding, and he left Parias to sit alone in the shadows. 

He had not been in Philomenus’ bedroom in many years. Zagreus could still remember sitting on the old man’s knee as a child, listening to Parias playing his lyre and singing stories of the gods. He would fidget even as the songs filled his mind with far-off mountains and great heroes across the seas. Philomenus had laughed heartily whenever Zagreus had dragged Polycaste into re-enacting the labors of Heracles, wrestling and chasing his long-suffering sister across the carpets.

Looking down at the wan face of his foster-father now, Zagreus could not find that spark of jubilant life. The vitality that once suffused Philomenus’ skin with color seemed to be fading away with each rattling breath he took. 

Quietly, Zagreus took a nearby stool and sat.

The hours grew long in the night, with the silence only punctuated by his foster-father’s strained breathing. Zagreus remained at his bedside, the stillest he had ever been, even as the sun slipped beyond the horizon and the inky darkness of night enshrouded the heavens. 

Four hours into his vigil, with a quiet, violent abruptness, Philomenus’ breath rushed out of him in a low, hoarse gasp and a spasm overtook his limbs. Knocking his stool over, Zagreus leapt to his feet in a panic. He opened his mouth to shout for Parias, when a deep bell tolled behind him. 

"Death approaches."

The soft, even-toned voice sent a chill up Zagreus’ spine. Whipping around, he found himself face-to-face with a man, garbed in gold and black, looming over him with an enormous, gleaming scythe. From underneath the shadow of his hood, his sharp, golden eyes raked over Zagreus, before widening. 

"You... what are _you_ doing here?"

Zagreus placed his body between the intruder and Philomenus as he swallowed hard. “I live here,” he said cautiously, before his eyes darted over to the man’s white-knuckled grip on his scythe. “...I should be asking you that question.”

Displeasure crawled up the man’s face. Zagreus belatedly noticed that he was floating in mid-air.

_A god._

“Blood and darkness, of all houses I could have visited,” the god muttered under his breath, as his gaze flickered over Zagreus’ head to Philomenus on the bed. Then, those cold eyes snapped back to Zagreus and his expression grew strained, just for a moment. Zagreus’ heart sped up involuntarily. As god and man regarded each other in the darkened bedroom, the only sound Zagreus could hear was the blood pounding in his ears. 

Finally, unable to stomach the silence, he blurted out, “What is your name, stranger? Mine is Zagreus, sir.” 

He knew, he _knew_ , but he needed to confirm what the acrid taste in the back of his throat was telling him. 

“Zagreus—” the god said in a low, dangerous voice and _oh,_ the sound of his name in that mouth made shivers erupt all over his skin. “Don’t play these games with me. You... must know who I am. Why I am here.”

So preoccupied with watching that grim and cold face, Zagreus missed the pained lilt at the end of the god’s words. Instead, as he stared up at those golden eyes, he felt a strange, heady confidence spread over his limbs. 

_A god was speaking to him._

The words spilled from his mouth, rash and urgent, “You call me so familiarly, and yet you do not give me your name in turn. How can I address you then?” 

Sudden, rigid tension filled the god's face. The fearlessness in Zagreus faltered. 

Had he gone too far? He braced for a blade to the gut or perhaps a scythe across his neck. Maybe the god would crush Zagreus’ windpipe with that gleaming gauntlet of his.

Instead, to his absolute astonishment, he replied in a tight voice, "...my name is Thanatos. Now move aside or I’ll make you."

“Thanatos,” Zagreus said, rolling the name around in his mouth and flushing with a sense of illicit victory. 

The god’s eyes narrowed and the edge of his silver eyelashes caught the fading lowlight. _Hateful to men and horror to the gods,_ he was supposed to be _._ Strange, then, that the black-robed god spoken of with such fear would have such a beautiful face.

In the face of the situation at hand, though, Zagreus had to shake himself back to reality and steady himself at the knees. He spoke quickly, “God of Death, I cannot allow you to take my father with you. Philomenus is the pillar that supports this household and the steward of these lands. He is the demigod son of Lady Demeter herself and does not deserve an ignoble death for his long years of service.”

Thanatos glared down at him. 

“His time is up, Zagreus. No man may escape his inevitable fate. All mortal men are doomed to dust and it matters little if he is a son of the gods or a son of a wretch,” he said coldly. His hand trembled on his scythe briefly before he let out a harsh breath and hissed, “...Even you cannot escape that fate yourself, one day.” 

“Not all mortals,” Zagreus shot back desperately. “I have heard the stories of those who defy the Underworld and lived to tell the tale. Sisyphus, Odysseus, Heracles—"

Thanatos sneered. “Odious men, the lot of them. They only delayed the inevitable. Death took them all in the end anyway. And you think yourself their peer?”

“Shall you wrestle me to find out?” Zagreus goaded frantically, as his mind worked furiously for an escape, a glimmer of hope. He braced himself for the god to approach and toss him aside. 

To his morbid fascination, Thanatos flushed pale with anger.

“ _Enough._ I am not here to fight you. You speak of Philomenus’ service? What do you know of service? _Of duty?_ ” he snarled. ”Your father gave his life willingly in service to this land and that life is now spent. He is a candle that has burned from both ends, staving off his lady mother’s desolation and breaking his back to plow this land. Even now this burden saps his strength and frays the threads of his life on the Fates’ spindle. Release him from this suffering, or doom him to an existence worse than that of the shade.” 

His acerbic words struck true, lodging in Zagreus’ ribcage, and Zagreus hesitated. Was Thanatos right? Was it Philomenus’ fate to die here, from a thankless dedication to his lady mother, after decades of estrangement? 

Zagreus’ moment of doubt was the opening Thanatos needed to shift right past him with a flash of light. The dark cloth of his cowl brushed past Zagreus’ arms, soft as silk, carrying the scent of charred wood and dark earth. Panicked, Zagreus spun around wildly and cried out, “Wait, please—” 

Thanatos did not heed him, holding out his gauntlet-covered hand over Philomenus’ body. Under the dim green glow emitting from the metal, Philomenus’ face grew sallow and sunken, looking already halfway to the gates of Hades. 

Desperate, Zagreus seized the bare shoulder of Death himself.

Thanatos recoiled back, fury in his wild eyes, and the light from his gauntlet faded. When he tried to wrench his arm away, however, Zagreus’ grip only tightened. 

Digging his fingers into the hard muscle underneath, Zagreus beseeched him, “What if I find someone else to steward the land in his stead? Could you not then delay the hour of his death?”

He then made to sink to his knees in supplication, but Thanatos caught his other arm in an iron-clad vise grip and held him in place before he could. His scythe clattered to the ground with a harsh clang. With their straining arms braced against each other, they faced one another, unable to turn away.

Neither of them would let go. 

“What fool idea are you going on about?” Thanatos growled and Zagreus could feel Death’s ragged breath ghosting warm against his face.

“The Goddess of Verdure. Persephone. A goddess in her own right. She could restore the land and free my father from the burden,” Zagreus breathed back. So close to him, he could see the way Thanatos’ lips parted in surprise and the way his golden eyes widened.

Then, with a sharp wrench, Thanatos broke away from Zagreus’ grasp and sent him staggering to the side. By the time Zagreus regained his balance, Thanatos had turned away, silver bangs falling over his eyes, hiding his expression.

Zagreus waited, half-breathing, as the god floated in silence.

Under his breath, so quiet that Zagreus almost didn’t hear, Thanatos muttered, “This was not the plan, Mother.”

_What does that mean?_

When Thanatos lifted his head, his cold composure had returned to his face. Pinning Zagreus with those fierce golden eyes, he extended one hand and the scythe flew up into his grasp. Zagreus stiffened, but Thanatos merely swung it behind him and extended an open palm towards him. 

“A god cannot bargain with you without a price. What will you offer me?”

Zagreus faltered. 

“I have nothing to offer to you...” he hesitated before reaching up and putting a hand over his beating heart. It thudded wildly against his ribcage. 

His foster-father had given his whole life in service to the land. Could Zagreus not do the same? 

Swallowing hard, he felt his resolve sharpen and he looked up to meet Thanatos’ inscrutable gaze. “...Nothing except my own life in exchange for this chance.” 

“...You offer me the length of your mortal life?” 

Zagreus nodded.

Thanatos pressed his lips together tight, pale and bloodless, before he floated up higher, brandishing his scythe.

“Then these are my terms. I will delay Philomenus’ death by a year and a day. If you find the goddess Persephone and restore her to these lands, your father will live to a ripe old age, unencumbered by Death’s shadows. But—” 

The god pointed at Zagreus and an unnatural wind stirred around them. It raised the dust from the floor and made the hairs on the back of Zagreus’ neck stand on end. 

“—Even after a year and a day passes and I take Philomenus to the Underworld, you will remain bound to this service. You will not rest until you have found the Goddess of Verdure, until the day you draw your last breath and I sever you from this mortal plane. Do you agree to my terms?” 

A shiver ran all the way down to Zagreus’ soul. Still, as he found himself looking up into the eyes of death, he felt something stirred, wild and reckless, in his heart. 

“I do.”

Thanatos exhaled, heavy, before waving his hand in the air between them. Raw power wafted off him, distorting the air with a shimmering green aura. The force of his divinity rang through his voice as he declared, “Then let it be done, sworn on the bloody waters of the Styx herself.”

The sound of a bell tolled far in the distance. Behind him, Philomenus let out a long sigh and his breathing evened out. Zagreus rushed to his bedside and nearly collapsed in relief.

“Thank you,” he breathed as he spun around to face Thanatos. The relief in his face cooled, however, when he saw the look of bitterness on the god’s face. 

It was as if the stars themselves burned him from behind those golden eyes. Thanatos’ smouldering anger leaked into his voice as he growled, “I don’t want your thanks, Zagreus. Speak of this to no one. And don’t fail this time.”

Then, with the harsh toll of gong, he vanished in a flash of green light. 

Zagreus found himself staring at the empty air he left behind as the enormity of what he had done bore down upon his shoulders. Next to him, Philomenus slipped into a deeper, peaceful slumber.

Far, far below the surface, the House of Hades had fallen into disarray. Dusa, the resident gorgon head custodian, zipped from one end of the great halls to the other. Her dustpan brimmed with massive amounts of scarlet furballs, some larger than the gorgon head herself. She had to skirt carefully around the perpetrator of the mess, as the great hellhound Cerberus was moody and unpredictable these days. 

Dusa tried not to think too hard about the reasons why as she flew past the Underworld Prince's sealed bedchambers. 

A long time ago, although time was a difficult thing to measure in the Underworld, Nyx had forbade Dusa from cleaning in there and then locked the doors in front of her. At the time, Dusa hadn't thought to ask why, far too anxious from how her boss had stared down balefully at her. Now, the opportunity seemed long gone.

Still, ever since Nyx had shut those doors, no one had seen the Underworld Prince in the halls. 

At first, Dusa had just assumed he was out on one of his escape attempts. She had a lot of work to do, after all, and sometimes their paths just didn't cross for days on end. Then, after what felt like months had passed, she had started to hear gossip from the shades about how the prince might have finally made it out to the surface. That had definitely put a damper on Dusa's spirits for a while, but wasn't that what Zagreus wanted more than anything? To leave his father’s House?

So she had resolved to be happy for him. While her own memories of the surface had long since been tainted by her end through decapitation, she knew that the world of living remained an irresistible lure for those in the Underworld. She could not fault someone like Zagreus for longing for it. Especially when he had never gotten to experience the splendors of the living world to begin with. 

Not everyone had taken Dusa's perspective on the matter though. She had more time now to spend with Megaera, now that the Fury didn't have to be out in Tartarus fighting Zagreus every other day. The mere mention of the Prince, however, would fill their conversation with awkwardness and silence. The few times Dusa had thought to ask Nyx about the matter, her courage would fail her immediately as the Night-Mother's eyes flashed and her mouth thinned. And she would have to be downright suicidal to say anything about escaping the Underworld in the presence of Lord Hades. 

So, even as the absence of the Prince grew to be common knowledge, it had remained an open sore that the House tip-toed around. Few brought it up except in idle gossip, until mentions of Zagreus seemed to disappear from the House altogether.

Until one fine day, nearly two decades in, Lord Hades had looked up from his paperwork and asked, "Where is that foolish boy?"

That day, the fury of their lord shook the very depths of Tartarus and nearly brought the House down. Huge boulders fell from the cavernous roof and splashed into the Styx. Achilles had to dive and steady a column two seconds away from squishing a sleeping Hypnos flat. The shades scattered in terror and Megaera grabbed Dusa, tucking the little gorgon head against her body, to shield her from the falling debris. 

"What have you done now, Zagreus?" the Fury had hissed to herself. Pressed tight in Megara’s arms, Dusa could feel the tension in her abdomen. All her own snakes convulsed in terrified anxiety and, if she still had a stomach, she was sure it would be tied up in knots.

The story spread like wildfire within the following days. Apparently the Fury Tisiphone had spotted Zagreus on the surface and sent an eloquently worded tip-off to the Lord of the Underworld. It had been lost amidst his correspondence for weeks, until Lord Hades happened upon it while clearing off his desk. Some shades said they saw the Lord of the Underworld storming off to argue with Nyx and subsequently breaking down the doors to his son’s chamber himself. 

What he had found there had sent him into his realm-shattering rage and he had left the House immediately afterwards, clad in his cloak and his great Helm. No one had seen him since. But one thing was now abundantly clear to all the inhabitants of the House: the prince really did escape to the surface to the ignorance of his lord father.

Everyone waited the next few days with bated breath. Dusa kept one eye at all times on the Styx herself, dreading and anticipating the old sight of the Prince rising from its bloody depths. She could barely concentrate, to the point that she found herself dusting the spotless rafters over and over again. 

It was one of those moments when she had hidden near the ceiling that a familiar voice caught her attention. 

"—he's the same. Mother, his voice, his bearing, even his unfounded, foolish confidence are all the same. How can this be?” It was Death Incarnate, but Dusa had never heard his voice so tattered and harsh before. 

Hiding behind the jewels of a nearby column, she peeked down to see Thanatos and Nyx on the balcony by the Styx. Even looking in from above, she could easily see the angry line of tension in Death’s shoulders and the agitated manner he paced on the ground. 

“You know as well as I do the soul is a strange thing. He is still himself, and yet, not. You say he is like how he was. Is that not a good thing? It will give him the mettle he needs to succeed on his quest,” Nyx assured her son. 

Curiosity warred with fear in Dusa. This conversation was clearly not meant for her prying ears. Yet from the way they spoke, it could only be about the Underworld Prince himself.

“You didn’t see him! Mother, he is so _weak._ I see him and there is a fragility within him that terrifies me. Already I have watched him narrowly evade death twice, once thanks to my own intervention!” Thanatos snarled, distress dripping from his every word. “And now you tell me my lord _knows_? It’s obvious what he’s planning. One strike from his lord father and he’ll fall for good.”

“Do not give into panic. It is true Lord Hades is aware, but he is bound by the same rules of this realm as before. Nor can he risk open pursuit without alerting the Olympians. There is still time. You conveyed his wishes to him, yes?”

Thanatos tugged his hood deeper over his head, such that Dusa couldn’t hope to make out his expression. 

“...Yes, I did. I bound him to his damned quest. Was this your intention all along, Mother? Or perhaps my elder sisters? For me to play the fool and entrust him with a suicidal mission? The only thing worse than his frailty is his ignorance.” Thanatos’ voice carried a dangerous undercurrent of bitterness. Dusa had never heard him speak so venomously to his lady mother, who he had only ever expressed the utmost respect and devotion to, and it made her shiver. 

“No, my son. I would not place that kind of burden on you willingly. It was mere coincidence that you encountered him before my messenger. The eddies and currents of the surface are hard to control and predict and you reached him long before she could. I would take that as a good sign,” Nyx said, calm and accepting, and Thanatos’ anger deflated out of him.

“You wouldn’t say such things if you saw him. I am not convinced he won’t perish the first step he takes on the road,” he muttered, glaring at the ground.

“I do not fear that. You will be keeping an eye on him up there, after all.”

Dusa had never seen Death Incarnate so taken aback as Thanatos sputtered, “ _What?_ ”

“You just told me you feared for his weakness. After all, he is not afforded the power that the great heroes like Achilles had, with the blood of a divine parent in their veins. His stock, no matter where his soul came from, is decidedly mortal. The blessings of a god will make all the difference to him,” Nyx explained patiently.

“Yes, an Olympian’s blessing, perhaps! Mother, you can’t be serious.”

“It is your decision. I will not push you if you are unwilling. I understand the position you are in is precarious indeed. But,” Nyx smiled before tilting her head up with a faraway look in her eyes. “You already intended to do such a thing before I brought it up, were you not? You would not part with Mort for any other reason.” 

“I— ugh,” Thanatos turned his back to his mother, gazing out into the Styx, gripping the banister hard. Despite the terror he could induce in her, Dusa couldn’t help but feel a surge of sympathetic camaraderie. Everyone in the House knew what it felt like to be caught between the Underworld Prince and his father.

Distracted, she did not notice a pair of golden eyes narrow in her direction. 

“Come down here, Dusa.” 

She jerked up in horror as she saw Nyx looking up at her with an expression of pure displeasure. 

She had been discovered.

Dread surged through every single one of her snakes. She quickly floated down and started blubbering apologies. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t mean, I mean… This won’t ever happen again—” 

Thanatos wheeled around with ill-concealed anger while Nyx stared down at her coolly. The disapproval from not one, but two Chthonic deities made Dusa wish she could turn herself to stone on the spot. 

“Eavesdropping is not permitted in this House. You know the rules,” Nyx said and the sound of her disappointment fell like a hammer stroke on Dusa’s ears. 

“I’ll forget everything, I’m so sorry, please don’t fire me—” she begged. 

Inwardly she cursed her own mouth. Fire her? They were more likely to reduce her to dust on the spot!

“You’re Zagreus’ friend,” Thanatos said, voice tight. Dusa wondered how many mortals had the unique pleasure of seeing Death so angry right before they died. Surely she was one of the lucky ones. “Nosy just like him, aren’t you?”

Dusa cringed, even though a small part of her swelled with the recognition of being the Prince’s friend. “He-he’s out there, isn’t he? I just wanted to know if he was al-alright. It’s been so long after all. I’m sorry...”

Nyx stared down at her, disapproval clear on her face. Dusa quailed under her glare. She was doomed. In cold, regal tones, the Night-Mother said, “Dusa, since you have such an interest in the Prince, I have a special job for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:
> 
> [1] "Hateful to men and horror to the gods" is a line from Euripides' play, Alcestis, spoken by Apollo in reference to Thanatos himself. The story of Alcestis is as follows.
> 
> The king Admetus was so beloved by Apollo that the god had convinced the Fates to allow Admetus to live forever, so long as someone would die in his place. Admetus thus looked to his aged parents to see if one of them would die for him, only to find that no one was willing to do so. In the end, his beloved wife, Alcestis, volunteered herself for the task. She went to await Thanatos in her tomb.
> 
> Admetus then contemplated an immortal life without his wife and realized, in grief, that an eternity without her would be no better than death. Tragedy was only averted when Heracles, in the midst of his Twelve Labors, arrived at Admetus' house. In repayment for his host's hospitality, the hero went to confront Thanatos and wrestled him for Alcestis' soul. Heracles emerged victorious and he thus returned Alcestis to the world of the living and to her husband. 
> 
> [2] Supplication refers to the act of earnestly begging something of someone and has been ritualized extensively within Homer's Iliad and Odyssey. The supplicant would be expected to humbly entreat the opposing party by lowering themselves and embracing their knees, in order to demonstrate their desperation and to appeal to the higher nature of their opponent. The most famous example is, perhaps, in the Iliad, when King Priam of Troy supplicated himself to his enemy, the Greek war hero Achilles, begging for the return of his son Hector's body.
> 
> Update: max drew some absolutely amazing [fanart](https://twitter.com/Maxiemaxxx99/status/1330105395004764160) for this chapter! I am so honored and blessed!


	7. Wretched Shades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: depictions of hunting and deer death in this chapter

The doctor that Euthalia had brought back exited Philomenus’ room scratching his head in confusion. According to his diagnosis, Philomenus’ condition appeared fine, but no one could wake him from his deep slumber. All the doctor could do was give them some instructions on how to care for an unconscious patient. 

When Parias heard the news, he buckled at the knees in relief. Euthalia had gone to him, whispering words of comfort and reassurance to her husband. Zagreus, however, kept his distance, standing in the corner of the room stiffly. 

“Parias?” he asked, once the doctor left. His brother lifted his tear-streaked face to look up and Zagreus swallowed hard. “We need to talk.”

He told Parias and Euthalia everything that had transpired earlier that evening by Philomenus’ bedside. About his meeting with Death Incarnate himself and the service Zagreus had pressed himself into. When he had finished, all relief had drained from their faces, leaving them ashen and disbelieving.

“What were you _thinking_ , trying to make a bargain with Death himself?” Parias cried out, putting his face in his hands. The despair quickly turned to anger, however, as he jumped to his feet and grabbed Zagreus by his collar. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one who knows all the old stories? You think you can trust Death himself?”

Zagreus did not budge, meeting his brother’s dismayed stare. 

“I’m trying to save our father,” he replied. “No, not just our father, but our whole family. You remember what Callisto had said about the long winters and Lady Demeter. Persephone is the key to all of this— saving Father, stopping the harsh winters, bringing Lady Demeter back, everything.”

Parias released Zagreus’ collar in disgust and started to pace the room. Waving his hands, he snapped, “Father said himself it’s a hopeless mission, Zagreus! And now you signed your life away to this… this _god of death_ and I’m supposed to let you just go die in some ditch chasing some fairytale about a goddess of flowers?” 

Euthalia shifted uneasily on the nearby low couch, eyes darting between her husband and her brother-in-law. “Parias, Zagreus, the children are asleep...” 

Neither brother listened to her. Temper flaring, Zagreus retorted, “Better than watching us all waste away next winter! I’ll take the risk. It’s my life, Parias, and I want it to be worth something. Out there, I might actually be able to accomplish that! But not here!” 

“I knew it,” Parias growled, pointing an accusing finger at Zagreus. “We were never good enough for you. You’re not doing this for Father. You’re doing this for your own self-satisfaction.”

Zagreus staggered back as if he had been slapped in the face. His next words died in his throat. 

“Parias!” Euthalia cried out, shooting to her feet. “He’s your brother… You don’t mean that.”

Parias let his pointed finger drop, but he did not take back his words. His limbs trembled with fatigue as he refused to meet either his wife’s nor his brother’s gaze. They were all exhausted after hours of vigil by Philomenus’ bedside and weariness hung heavy over their backs in the silence. 

Trying to swallow down the hurt, Zagreus murmured, “I’m not doing this for myself. It’s because everyone— you, Father, the children— deserve better from the gods. If Persephone is the key to undoing this cycle of neglect, I want to make that right. That’s all, Parias.”

Parias stood, stony, hands clenched into fists by his side. Then, his face crumpled and the anger drained out of it, leaving an exhaustion deeper than the sea. He croaked, “Gods damn you, think of my feelings for once, Zagreus. You’re asking me to send my little brother to his death, right after losing my father.”

“We haven’t lost Philomenus yet,” Zagreus insisted.

Before Parias could retort, Euthalia laid a gentle hand on her husband’s shoulder, interrupting him.

“Why don’t we believe in Zagreus? I think… If he can convince the god of death himself to agree to such a bargain, there’s no limit to what he can accomplish,” she said quietly. Parias turned to stare at his wife, eyes lost and wild. She smiled with a touch of melancholy. “My dear husband, you should give him your blessing, so he may walk the road with his heart unburdened.”

Euthalia tucked Parias’ hair behind his ears and stroked his beard tenderly. In the face of his wife’s care, Parias softened and grasped her hand in his. The display of affection made Zagreus avert his eyes, and he found himself staring at the ground, shuffling his feet awkwardly. 

Half to himself, he mumbled defiantly, “For what it’s worth, I can tell that Thanatos is not sending me to my doom. You weren’t there, but… the way he spoke to me. I could tell. He has _expectations_ of me.”

“...Your judgement of character has historically not been perfect, Zagreus,” Parias said, looking up from his wife with a pained grimace. 

“What? Since when? I’m a great judge of character.” 

Parias snorted. “Do you remember Phaedrus, the boy from the garrison? He was a scoundrel.”

Zagreus glowered. “There wasn’t anything wrong with him. You just didn’t like him. When he ended up deployed to Argos, you were ready to throw a party.”

“Good riddance. You followed him around like a dog for days and he took advantage of that while promising you nothing,” his brother shot back. Euthalia gave him a look of sympathetic pity. 

The tension ebbed between them, just slightly. 

Finally, after a long sigh, Parias unhappily asked, “So where would you even start to look for a Goddess?”

Zagreus, who had his bags packed in his room for three weeks already, didn’t even have to pause to think.

“Delphi. I’m going to consult Apollo’s Oracle herself.” 

The next morning, Zagreus set off. The day dawned bright and cold, but the skies were clear and the clouds sparse. Euthalia pinned a thick red cloak, a _chlamys_ she had woven herself, over his shoulder with a bronze wolf-engraved brooch. Parias gave him a purse filled with all the drachma they could spare and the two of them watched solemnly from the gate as Zagreus departed.

“Zagreus!” Parias called, voice hoarse, at his brother’s retreating back. “Don’t you dare die out there!” 

“I won’t!” Zagreus yelled back without turning around, lifting an arm up in farewell.

He didn’t get halfway down the road when Iphios came running, with his tongue lolling out of his mouth and tail wagging. The hound clearly thought Zagreus was heading out for a hunt and fell right in step with him. 

Zagreus shook his head and pointed back to the farm. "Go back home, boy. I'm leaving." 

The hound cocked his head, confused. 

"You gotta go back home. Don't follow me," he insisted. Iphios hesitated before letting out a little whine. Zagreus made a pained expression, but gestured firmly back to the farm. "Go back and guard the farm, boy! Keep everyone safe while I'm away!"

Iphios whined before turning tail. He started to slink back up the road, brown-tipped ears drooping. 

Halfway back up the road, he lifted his head again, as if checking if his master had truly meant to send him away. Zagreus stood firm and, finally, the hound trekked back home, head hung low. 

Guilt gnawing at his heart, Zagreus waited until Iphios disappeared into the gates before he let out a sigh. Shouldering his pack, he started hurrying down the road, away from his childhood home. 

The journey to Delphi was a four day hike on foot from the base of Mount Helicon, where the House of Philomenus lay. The route Zagreus had chosen crossed the low mountains that encircled this part of Boeotia, heading northeast and ending at the slopes of Mount Parnassus. The roads of this region were broad and even, thanks to the frequent trade between the Corinthian coast and the inner mainland cities. 

On the way, Zagreus passed by several villages nestled in the valleys between the various peaks. The farmlands here were not so different than those he toiled on back at home, planted with barley, wheat, and grapes. Frequently, Zagreus saw families among the olive tree groves and they'd call him over, asking for news from the east in exchange for local gossip.

“Been seeing soldiers from Thebes, and Athens passing by,” one farmer told Zagreus, leaning against her plow and chewing on a stray piece of grass. “No doubt off to another war that’ll suck our harvest dry.”

“Where’s the fighting now, do you know? Last I heard it was down by Argos, on the Peloponnese,” Zagreus said. His mind flitted to how he had only found out about Phaedrus’ deployment to the southern city from a letter left in his abandoned room and suppressed a wince.

“So long as it’s not here, I couldn’t care less. If Lord Ares tries to bring his bloody work here, he will find no warriors to challenge nor citadels to plunder,” she huffed. “What will those princes try to rob us of, our poverty?”

It was true what she said. Everywhere Zagreus went, he saw the hollows left in the people’s cheeks and the patchy quality of their grain. On the mountain slopes above these villages, snow remained glistening upon the firs and cypresses, despite the fact they were days away from the height of summer. It reminded him of Thanatos’ words about Demeter’s desolation. Outside his family home, he could finally see how Philomenus had shielded them from its worst effects. His foster-father had always been able to coax grain to grow, even on the rockiest of soil, and charm the olive trees to bear fruit, even when the sun wouldn’t shine for days on end.

Yet, Philomenus wasn’t able to stop his lady mother’s curse for good. Only Persephone, a goddess of her own right, could accomplish such a feat. 

_Thanatos… You really gave me a task of the ages,_ Zagreus thought to himself and it made him quicken his pace down the road. 

During the nights, Zagreus laid his bedroll out under the stars and stared up at the swirling constellations of the great heroes that came before him. He wondered if the gods were watching him, and the thought filled him with a lightheaded feeling. 

"What do you think, Orion? Any ideas where this Goddess could be hiding?" he whispered to himself.

The great hunter, favorite of Artemis, never responded, but that didn't bother Zagreus. He was used to the silence.

The mild and fresh night air filled his lungs and he would fall asleep deeply, dreaming of the misty waters of a starry river, the echoes of laughter in a great, jeweled hall, and the golden eyes of a mysterious god. 

When he was only a day from Delphi, Zagreus spotted fresh deer tracks by the side of the road and decided to take a detour for a hunt. Deer antlers would make good offerings once he reached the temples, and he could earn a little extra coin by selling the pelts and venison in town. He hadn’t gone hunting in a while as well, not since Callisto left, and Zagreus would never turn down a chance to sharpen his skills.

He followed the deer’s winding trail into the lower forested valleys and, after a couple hours of tracking, he found his prey grazing in a small sunlit clearing. He perched himself in a tree upwind with his bows and arrows, stripping off his eye-catching red _chlamys_ in favor of his grey-green under-robe and stashing his bulky travel pack in a nearby tree nook. Then, Zagreus settled in to wait.

The deer was a stag, with a gleaming summer coat and enormous velvet antlers, busy lazily stripping leaves off nearby branches. It moved slowly, lifting its bulky head every so often to check for predators. Zagreus didn’t dare move a muscle, crouched among the foliage, keeping his breathing slow and even.

He hadn’t seen a deer this large and valuable in years.

As the stag took another step, inching it closer into Zagreus’ range, he silently knocked an arrow into his yew and bone bow. Squinting with his good left eye, Zagreus aimed for under those tawny forelegs, right to the heart. 

Then, the braying of dogs shattered the silence of the forest. The stag’s head jerked up in alarm as three dogs burst through the trees. 

Spooked, the stag took flight. 

“No, wait—!” Zagreus hastily released his shot. His arrow struck the haunches of the deer, but it only staggered a bit before taking off again, with its white tail flashing between the trees. With a grunt, Zagreus dropped down from his perch, wincing as he hit the ground hard, and gave chase.

He could hear the hounds advancing hot on his heels, barking and yelping, but he didn’t spare them a second glance. His eyes were pinned on the white and brown blur of the stag. The stag kept swerving abruptly, in hopes of shaking off its pursuers, but neither Zagreus nor the hounds let up. 

As predator and prey burst into another clearing, Zagreus saw his opportunity. Charging up a nearby hill, he drew his bow at the same time, and then, at the height of his stride, released his shot. 

The arrow flew true and thudded into the stag’s rib cage. The beast crumpled to a heap on the forest floor. 

“Yes!” Zagreus crowed, sliding down a stop on the crest of the hill. His brief moment of self-satisfaction, however, turned to alarm as the hounds streaked past him towards the dying stag, teeth flashing and tongues lolling. As soon as they got to the stag, they pounced, ripping into the dying beast’s throat.

"Wait, hey, heel—!" he yelled, sprinting down the bluff after the dogs. The deer shuddered its last breaths as Zagreus seized the dogs by their collars to yank them off. "Down, down! Who trained you?!"

A sharp whistle blasted through the trees behind him and the dogs stopped struggling in Zagreus' grasp. They all slunk away from the fallen stag and fell into line, panting and tails wagging.

"Who are you, interrupting my hunt and attacking my dogs?"

Zagreus turned around and found himself staring up at a golden-haired youth riding an enormous horse, thundering towards him from behind the trees. More men poured in behind the rider on foot, carrying hunting spears and nets, until the dozen or so men had encircled Zagreus.

"You are in the presence of Prince Thymoetes of Athens! Show your respect," one of the men boomed, banging an oak cudgel on the ground.

Zagreus stared up at the youth, who lifted his chin imperiously at him. _That’s a prince of Athens?_ With his hair unshorn and his chin bare, Thymoetes had the appearance of a beautiful marble statue sprung to life. Despite his elegant face, however, the prince’s blue eyes were flinty and cold, as if they belonged to a man twice his age. 

“I asked you a question,” Prince Thymoetes repeated, irritation coating his voice.

Zagreus frowned. He began cautiously, “My name is Zagreus, son of Philomenus. I had been tracking this deer for several hours and I took an opportunity to shoot it when I saw it. Your hounds were savaging the prey so I was trying to stop them. That’s all.”

The prince sniffed. "We were the ones tracking this deer all afternoon. If you hadn’t startled it with your clumsy shooting, we would have been able to capture it.” 

Outrage flashed through Zagreus and he couldn’t help the disbelieving “Excuse me?!” that burst out of him. Several of the prince’s hunters glared menacingly at him.

Thymoetes ignored him and turned to one of his men. “The head will make a good prize for my brother, the king. If you would skin and strip the animal—" 

One of his men proceeded towards the stag, but Zagreus quickly blocked him. “Sir, with all due respect, that prize is mine. I shot the killing blow and brought it down. You can’t just take what another man rightfully hunted."

“My dogs were the one to bring down the stag, son of Philomenus,” the prince said imperiously before pausing with a frown. He jostled his horse by accident and the stallion shifted forward uneasily, forcing Zagreus to take a couple steps backwards. “Why does that name sound familiar?” 

One of the attendants whispered loudly, "My lord, that name, Philomenus... I believe he is that reputed son of Demeter. The one in Boeotia.” 

"The one with the mines of silver? That miserly old man?" Thymoetes’ brow furrowed, just for a moment, before he tossed his long curls over his shoulder dismissively. "A child of Demeter... I can't remember any heroes of note from her line."

"No, not that one. The other son. The ploughman."

At this, Thymoetes burst into harsh laughter and his men joined in, snickering into their hands. 

Anger began to rise within Zagreus as he stared up at the smirking faces of the men before him. 

"A farmer's boy, are you? And he would try to deny a prince of Athens! What would you even do with such a fine deer? Hang it up in your pigpen?" Thymoetes sneered.

Zagreus snapped, "At least my father didn’t raise a thief.” 

The laughter stopped abruptly as Thymoetes’ expression turned into an ugly scowl. The prince’s hand went to a whip at his waist and the other members of his hunting party tightened their grips on their weapons. Zagreus stood his ground, glaring up at the prince. He clenched his fists so tight that they trembled. 

“To think someone with such inferior breeding would dare disrespect my noble father. You’ll receive a whipping for that, farm boy,” Thymoetes hissed. 

_Come at me yourself. I’ll drag you off your horse down into the mud and then we’ll see who is inferior,_ he thought viciously. Thymoetes jerked his head forward and the men started towards Zagreus, raising their weapons. 

Zagreus braced himself.

Then, before anyone could land a blow, an enormous giant, brandishing a gigantic club, smashed through the trees and into the clearing with a sky-rattling bellow. With one massive meaty fist, it seized the nearest hunter by the head and tossed the screaming man into the trees. The man crashed into a tree trunk with a sickening crack, and dropped to the ground, dead before he even hit the earth. 

Grinning at Zagreus with gruesome delight, the giant bawled, “We found you!” 

Pandemonium broke out in the clearing. Men and dogs scattered in terror as, with one huge swing of its club, the giant sent half a dozen men flying. 

The prince, however, stood his ground.

"Bring it down! Damn you all, glory to anyone who brings it down!" Thymoetes shrieked, grabbing a spear and yanking hard on his horse's reins. The stallion reared up with a sharp whinny and the golden-haired prince charged at the giant. With a powerful thrust, he stabbed the bronze-tipped spear right into the giant's ribs and it howled in pain. 

Despite the anger burning in his veins towards the Athenian prince, Zagreus moved into action as well, grabbing his bow and arrows. He wasn’t so cold-blooded and cowardly to run in the face of danger. 

Not to mention, the giant had spoken to _him._

He dodged away from the giant’s blows, feeling the rush of air pass by his face, and shot three times, one after the other, right into the giant’s chest. As the arrows thudded into the ghastly-colored flesh, the giant staggered back. 

For a moment, it swayed on its feet, and Thymoetes took that chance to charge once again. Then, the giant caught itself on a nearby tree, nearly ripping it out of the ground, and righted itself. The upended roots sent the prince’s stallion stumbling backwards and the prince’s spear missed its target. Zagreus could hear the prince howling in outrage to the side, but he tuned the noise out. 

With a ferocious roar, the giant reached down with one enormous hand and ripped the shafts out of its body, spraying the ground with a sickly-looking milky blood. It stared directly at Zagreus and roared with fury.

Zagreus’ own blood burned hot under his skin, answering the challenge. Drawing back his bow once again, he snarled, “Come on, I’ll send you to Tartarus myself!” 

The giant charged at him and Zagreus weaved around his strikes deftly, sending arrow after arrow into his flesh. With each hit, the swings of its club grew frenzied and wild. The rush of battle began to reach Zagreus’ head, flooding him down to his toes with some strange, familiar heat, blinding him to all else.

That was his fatal misstep.

He had been so focused on the giant that he didn’t notice when one of Thymoetes’ men ran in his direction, attempting to flee the battlefield. As Zagreus took a step back to avoid the giant’s club, the hunter crashed into him painfully. The two of them went down in a tangle of limbs. 

“Argh—!”

In that moment of confusion, the giant’s club smashed into the both of them.

Pain erupted up Zagreus’ ribcage as his body went flying and then hit the rocky ground hard. He couldn’t breathe, as each time he gasped, his lungs seized up and he couldn’t expand his chest. His head rang painfully and he couldn’t lift it from the ground. The other hunter had fallen next to him, groaning and swearing in the dirt. 

The heady rush of battle vanished in an instant as alarm set in. He willed his body to move, _damnit_ , but he couldn’t summon an ounce of strength. The giant loomed over him with a malformed grin on its thickset face. 

“Got you, prince!” it gloated with a leer. It raised its club, intent on smashing Zagreus into a bloody smear upon the earth.

_No! Not like this!_

“As if, fiend!” Roaring, Prince Thymoetes burst into the fray and charged at the giant. He pierced its skin with his flashing spear while galloping by and wheeled his stallion around for another blow. Gashes riddled the giant’s hide, bleeding foul blood down his ashen skin. 

The prince’s relentless attack gave Zagreus the opportunity to roll away from the combat and push himself back onto his feet. His chest ached with every breath he took, but, once upright, he could suck air into his lungs once again.

_Ugh, to be saved by him._

Numerous unpleasant emotions warred with the physical pain his body was in, but Zagreus shoved it all down for the moment. The battlefield was no time for this. He had already paid the price for a lapse of focus earlier. So, hands steady despite the roar of blood in his ears, he pulled his last arrow from his quiver. 

In the meanwhile, Thymoetes continued to hound the giant, barking orders as he wove around and struck the giant over and over again. Unable to stop the lightning-quick spear, the giant aimed instead for the prince’s steed and knocked the poor horse to the ground with an angry backhand. The stallion went down with a horrible shriek, hooves flashing. Still, the golden-haired prince didn’t falter. He leapt off his fallen mount and charged the giant on foot, cerulean cloak billowing behind him. 

“Die, you monster!” he screamed wildly.

From several paces behind the prince, Zagreus pulled back his bowstring to its full draw, ignoring how the muscles in his arm screamed with pain. 

“Artemis, guide my arrow,” he murmured. The bear plush squashed against his chest grew warm, just for a moment. 

As Thymoetes forced the giant up against a copse of trees, Zagreus released his shot. 

His arrow whipped through the air like a lightning bolt, piercing the giant straight through the eye. At the same time, Thymoetes ducked underneath a broad swing and shoved his spear savagely right through the giant’s chest, until the bronze spearpoint sprouted from its back. 

The giant’s limbs dropped limp to its side as it made a horrible, wet retching sound. Its head lolled forward with Zagreus’ arrow still lodged in its eye and clouded blood streamed down its face. 

“Urghhh… no… don’t want to… go back,” it groaned as its remaining pale eye met Zagreus’ across the clearing. Then, in front of everyone, it collapsed into a pile of black ash and disintegrated into the wind. Thymoetes’ spear dropped to the ground with a clang.

The Athenian prince scowled at the sooty mark left in the earth. “Not even a prize to bring back.”

All around the clearing, the groaning and moaning hunting party staggered to their feet. Several men had died, from having their necks snapped by the giant or their heads crushed by its club. Zagreus fell silent and somber at the sight of death on the battlefield, but Prince Thymoetes swept past them briskly while shouting orders.

“Bring the corpses back to camp and build them each a pyre. Send word to their families that they fell in a glorious battle against a foul monster,” he commanded. 

“Prince Thymoetes,” Zagreus called and the prince turned around, mouth twisting in grimace. 

“What is it, farm boy?”

The sight of the Athenian prince’s expression made Zagreus’ hackles rise instinctively, but he swallowed the irritation down. 

“Thank you… for saving my life earlier.” 

Thymoetes looked taken aback, just for a moment, before a cool expression fell back on his face. “...I don’t recall doing any such thing. It was only natural that I would slay the beast. No one would expect anything less from someone from my lineage.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to kill it without my help,” Zagreus shot back, unable to help himself, annoyance seeping into his voice.

The pride on Thymoetes’ face faltered, as he digested the uncomfortable truth with an unpleasant grimace. Then, the prince angrily swept around on his heel and shouted at his men, “Take the stag and burn it as an offering to Lady Athena in thanks for granting me such a victory.”

Zagreus stared at the back of the prince’s cerulean cloak, dumbstruck, before exclaiming, “Are you bloody serious? I told you, the stag was—”

Sudden pain interrupted his words as his ribs ached from his heated outburst. He had to focus on sucking in air to alleviate the pressure on his chest. 

The giant’s blow must have wounded him more than he expected.

Thymoetes didn’t even bother to glance back as he went to inspect his fallen horse. The rust-red stallion still lay in the dust, flanks coated with sweat and bulging eyes bloodshot in panic. Whenever someone tried to approach it, it would kick out with his hooves and writhe upon the ground.

“What should we do, my lord?” one of the hunters asked, wiping the sweat from his brow. “He’ll break his own legs at this rate.”

Thymoetes glared down at the stallion, who snorted back at his master. 

“Get up, Xanthos, or I will sacrifice you alongside the stag to my great ancestor. I have no time to waste on failures,” he snapped, before turning to one of his men. “Head back first to camp and procure me a fresh steed. I must hurry back to Athens. My brother will need to hear of these monsters searching for me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Upon hearing these words, the horse thrashed harder on the ground, before managing to roll itself into a kneeling position. The hunters gave a cry of relief and one of them darted forward to grab its reins. Zagreus watched the entire affair from the edge of the clearing while he collected his arrows and frowned. 

Thymoetes, however, gave it a pleased look and strode forward. “Clearly the beast just needed the proper motivation.”

The horse snorted, lowering its head, as its flanks shuddered. Its eyes darted across the clearing as it stilled, just for a moment. Zagreus watched its pupils dilate and knew what was about to occur. 

Under his breath, he urged it on, “Get out of here.” 

The stallion bolted. 

It tore its reins from the unsuspecting hunter and crashed through the undergrowth with the force of a charging bull, hooves thundering over the earth. Thymoetes had to dive to the side, rolling in the dirt, to avoid being trampled. When the prince leapt to his feet, twigs and dirt tangled into his hair, his delicate features had twisted into a look of outrage and he spat, “After it!”

As the hunters started to run after the fleeing stallion, grabbing their nets and ropes, Zagreus' laughter filled the clearing, high and bright. 

“Looks like you train your horses even worse than you train your dogs!” he crowed. 

Thymoetes shot him a murderous look, scrambling up for his spear, dirty hair falling into his face. He snarled, “I’ll end you, farm boy!” 

“You’ll have to catch me first!” Zagreus taunted. Then, before the Athenian prince could send any of his men to break his legs, he kicked up his heels and took off after the runaway stallion. 

The hunters’ expressions of alarm blurred as he crashed past them. He ran as if flames licked his heels and his breath seared up his throat like fire rushing out of his throat. With each step Zagreus took, a wicked delight poured off his skin, fanned by the hot coal of anger in his heart.

_Let him take the stag. I’ll have myself a better prize._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes: 
> 
> [1] The Oracle of Delphi is a prominent figure in Ancient Greek mythology and history. Also known as the Pythia, she was a priestess of Apollo who sat in his Temple at Delphi and gave prophetic visions to those who came to consult with her. Many great heroes and kings sought the Oracle's prophecies, but even laypeople could undertake a pilgrimage to Delphi and wait in line for their chance to speak with her. Her prophecies were notoriously difficult to decipher and her involvement in many of the great myths demonstrate both her range of influence and the respect she commanded.
> 
> [2] A chlamys is a short cloak, pinned over the shoulder and ending around the knees, commonly worn by hunters, soldiers, and travelers. It was usually made of a thicker woolen material, meant for keeping its wearer warm while not constraining his arms and legs. While it can be worn over another garment, it was also commonly worn as the sole article of clothing.
> 
> Update on the Mini-Announcement: Some folks have messaged me already, so I think I am good for now! I'm blown away by the support and I'm so grateful that everyone is enjoying the fic. Thank you all so, so much! <3
> 
> ~~Mini-Announcement: This fic is getting quite large and it's a bit much to handle by myself, so I'm taking a chance and asking for some help! I'm looking for a line edits beta to help catch grammar/spelling mistakes and do general sanity checks! My schedule is pretty aggressive, so you'd have to be available about once a week to go through a chapter. This is obviously voluntary, so if at any time your schedule changes and you would have to back out, that would be okay. I'm looking for someone with an eye for detail and a good handle on the English language. Previous beta experience would be amazing as well. If you're interested, please message me on my tumblr or twitter. Thank you! 🙇~~


	8. Out of Boeotia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my two lovely betas, [jules](https://twitter.com/juuleslovesyou) and [pedxing](https://twitter.com/Pedxiing), for helping me with this chapter!

Zagreus plunged through the woods alone, chasing after the prince’s wayward steed, whose hindquarters flashed auburn amidst the foliage. Thymoetes' men couldn’t keep up with either of them and he spared no thought towards them. The only thing in his mind was the number of steps between him and the stallion. 

Every time the horse slowed, to check if his pursuer was still on his tail, Zagreus would close the distance between them a little more and the stallion would let out several whinnies in alarm. Even though its flanks shuddered with heavy breath, it was still a creature of wind and waves, capable of crossing kingdoms in hours. It surged forward, desperate to shake its hunter. 

But Zagreus would not relent.

Sweat soaked through his _chiton_ and his heart pounded so hard against his rib cage that he heard nothing else. Still, his feet did not stumble or slow. The fire pouring through his veins disguised any discomfort from his wounds, and his thighs ached with a familiar burn as his heels pressed featherlight into the damp earth. 

This, of all things, he could do unceasingly and unendingly. He knew that to be true, down to his very bones. 

They ran for what felt like hours, until both Zagreus and the stallion burst into a wide meadow, surrounded by high limestone cliffs. The horse made several strides into the long, yellow grass before coming to a shuddering halt. It turned to face its hunter, weariness and fear warring in its stance. Ears flattening against its skull and spit frothing at its mouth, it panted harshly and struck the ground with its hooves twice. 

Zagreus slid to a stop as well, several feet away from the twitching stallion. If the horse decided to charge at him, he’d be ill-equipped to avoid getting trampled. So instead, he inhaled deeply, pushing past the pain in his chest, and forced his breathing to steady. 

Holding his arms open, he murmured soothingly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The stallion pulled back its lips and bared its teeth with a huff. 

"I'm also not going to take you back to that bastard of a prince," Zagreus added. It snorted, pawing the ground and tossing its head. "Now, can you be a sweetheart and let me take a look at you?”

Horse and man stared at each other for several minutes. Zagreus kept his arms open wide, refusing to drop them even as the ache in his muscles made his hands tremble. Now that he wasn't moving anymore, every inch of his body throbbed with fatigue and he had to focus to keep his thighs from quivering. 

Then, carefully, the stallion stepped forward towards Zagreus.

"That's a good boy," Zagreus cooed as he caught its head in his hands and gently stroked its forelock. He could feel the stallion gentle under his hands, until their breathing reached a slower, more even pace. 

He took this chance to examine the stallion. Smoothing a hand along its black mane and its auburn coat, Zagreus found this horse finer-boned than the workhorses they had back on the farm. Still, endurance and strength bristled from every inch of its body. The stallion had clearly been bred for war, with a high crest, sturdy legs, and a lean build, strong enough to tow a chariot bearing two men onto a battlefield.

The horse’s dark eyes blinked at Zagreus as he continued to stroke its broad neck. He found a name stitched into the fabric of its riding blanket. “Xanthos, huh?” he murmured. “Is that your name, sweetheart?”

The stallion Xanthos whickered and knocked his nose into Zagreus' chest. The impact jolted something painful in his ribs and Zagreus staggered backwards, legs more unsteady than he realized. One hand came to rest on the Xanthos’ thick shoulder as his chest started to burn unpleasantly with each breath. 

“Alright, let’s just take a moment, and then head back to grab my things—” he muttered as he struggled to get his breathing under control. 

"Excuse me!" 

An unfamiliar voice rang out in the clearing and both Xanthos and Zagreus turned, spooked. A young man carrying a shepherd’s crook was running towards them. 

"You're not supposed to be grazing your horse here! This is private property. Can you take him back out to the processional road with the rest of the pilgrims?" 

The shepherd came to a halt in front of Zagreus and Xanthos, looking a little winded. The stallion backed up a little nervously, and Zagreus quickly took hold of his reins, to prevent Xanthos from bolting again. The sharp motion of reaching up made the pain in his ribs worsen considerably.

"Sorry about that. Didn't realize... someone lived here," Zagreus panted out. "If you don't mind, can you tell me where exactly 'here' is?" 

The young man's face twisted in confusion. "This is Delphi, of course.”

_Delphi?_

That couldn’t be right. He still had another day's worth of travel before reaching the town. 

"Are you sure?" Zagreus bit out as he leaned back a bit against the stallion’s shoulder. With a snort, the horse accepted his weight without complaint.

"Pretty sure? I've lived here my whole life. Did you get lost?" 

Zagreus managed to lift his head to the mountain and was stunned when he saw what he had missed earlier. Embedded in the mountainside, the marble sanctuary of Delphi glittered like a pearl within an oyster. Even from this distance, he could see how the cerulean roof of the Temple of Apollo gleamed and the gilded white columns shone in the sunlight. The seat of the Oracle loomed over the entire valley like a beacon of light. 

He really made it all the way to Delphi. Zagreus felt his knees buckle with a mixture of relief and astonishment as his hands trembled on Xanthos’ reins. His breathing came in harsh gasps.

Peering at this sweat-stained and red-faced stranger, the shepherd ventured tentatively, “Not to pry, but are you okay, sir? You don’t look so good. I can take you to a local doctor if you’re feeling unwell.”

Zagreus hesitated, for a moment, looking back at the forest they had come from. He had left all his supplies back in that clearing. How many hours would it take to retrace his steps back? Especially now that the adrenaline in his veins had thoroughly burned off. Nor did he fancy running into the Athenian prince once more. 

Xanthos, sensing his hesitation, nudged Zagreus again with his nose.

In the end, the pain decided for him. He’d get help first and double back for his things afterwards. Grimacing, Zagreus nodded gratefully.

“Lead the way, my good man.”

The doctor’s name was Iapyx and he declared Zagreus had likely fractured his ribs. 

“And you are telling me… a giant did this?” the local doctor of Delphi said skeptically, stroking his beard. “Are you certain you didn’t drink too much wine and fall off your horse?”

“Pretty sure,” Zagreus said.

They sat in an open tent off to the side of town where Iapyx saw his patients. Zagreus had left Xanthos tied out to one of the tent posts, and the stallion leisurely drank from the nearby water trough. 

“That is a fine horse you have there,” the doctor commented idly while he examined Zagreus’ bare torso. The skin had turned a mottled purple all down his left side and Zagreus grimaced at the sight. “Have you two been to Delphi before?”

“I’ve never been to Delphi before, sir. The horse is… new,” Zagreus said sheepishly, which was true. He and Xanthos had been getting along for a grand total of two minutes before all of this. When Iapyx’s cool fingers pressed down on his ribcage, Zagreus let out a yelp of pain. 

Iapyx frowned. “Yes, definitely bruised, if not fractured. Be thankful they aren’t seriously broken, otherwise, you run the risk of puncturing your lungs.”

Shrugging the sleeve of his _chiton_ back on, Zagreus asked, “So, what do I have to do to get them to heal?”

“Ribs are tricky. You can’t brace them, so all you can do is leave them alone while the bone heals,” Iapyx said, standing up and going to a small workstation. He poured out a mixture of white powder and handed it along with a jug to Zagreus. “Take this with the watered-down wine. It’s for the pain. As for how long, it’ll take about a month for them to fully heal.”

Zagreus washed down the bitter medicine with the wine and then sputtered, “A month?!”

“That’s right. It means no horse-riding, no giant-fighting, and plenty of bed rest. You’ll want to reduce the swelling as well with cold towels. Do you have a place to stay? There’s a guest room in my home and stables on our farm to keep your horse,” the doctor said matter-of-factly and his brown eyes peered at Zagreus. 

“That’s… very generous, but I don’t have a month to sit around,” Zagreus protested. Thanatos had only given him a year and a day to find a goddess that had been missing for centuries. Every second counted. 

“Resting is not sitting around,” Iapyx said firmly. “You’re a young man and I remember what that was like. But you’ll cause yourself more injury otherwise.”

“No, sir, you don’t understand,” Zagreus protested.

The doctor furrowed his brow. He was a handsome man, with wavy, black hair pulled back in plait and a well-trimmed beard, but exhaustion lined the corners of his eyes. “And, pray tell, what don’t I understand?” 

Zagreus hesitated. He had just met this doctor, yet Iapyx had been generous enough to offer his home and services to a complete stranger. Not to mention, the locals clearly respected the doctor, as Zagreus had seen several of them call out warm greetings as they passed by his stall in the road. Surely, it wouldn’t be amiss to confide in such a man?

“I… I have a quest to complete, from the gods. If I don’t, my father will die before the year is up. So, please, is there anything that will help me heal faster?”

Iapyx’s expression shuttered, just for a moment. Then, rubbing his temples, he sighed and gave Zagreus a wry smile. 

“From the gods, huh? It’s not that I’m not unsympathetic to your plight. But medicine has its limits, young man. The rest is up to your body,” he said. “Beyond that, well, we are in Delphi. You could appeal for aid from those gods of yours, I suppose.”

Zagreus blinked as the realization dawned on him. Iapyx was right. Aside from being the god of prophecy, Apollo was the god of medicine, and his temple was exactly where Zagreus was heading towards. 

“I’ll do exactly that, sir,” Zagreus said enthusiastically and Iapyx looked taken aback. “I’m sure they’ll be able to help.”

“Young man, your faith is strong,” the doctor murmured, in surprise. He pursed his lips, hesitant for a moment, before nodding to himself. “Rest a couple nights at my place first, though. The climb up to the sanctuary is not trivial and you can’t bring your horse up to the Temple anyway.”

“Thank you, sir!” 

Forgetting himself, Zagreus bowed his head in gratitude and then cringed as his ribs creaked painfully. 

Iapyx lived with his widowed mother and his three siblings in a farmhouse on the outskirts of Delphi, and they all welcomed Zagreus warmly into their home. His youngest sister, Iphianeira, took one look at Xanthos and immediately latched onto Zagreus to pepper him with questions about the horse. 

“Are you selling him? I have five obols and a really good ball of lint up for trade,” the ten-year-old girl asked him confidentially on their way to the stables and Zagreus bit back a laugh.

“Come on, I think he’s worth at least a second ball of lint. I almost died to tame him!” he teased.

Still, five obols and a ball of lint was more than what Zagreus had to his name at the moment. He had left nearly all of his belongings, including his money, in that tree hollow back in the clearing, when he went chasing after Xanthos. At least he still had Callisto’s keepsake tucked in the folds of his _chiton_ and the yew and bone bow Philomenus had gifted him _._ His mood had fallen though, when he realized that his childhood rat plush had been left behind, along with the scarlet _chlamys_ Euthalia had woven for him. 

Retrieving his supplies would have to wait, though, until after his ribs healed some more and he met the Oracle. 

Since he had nothing to offer the kind family that took him in, and his injury precluded him from doing anything strenuous, he dutifully took on babysitting that night. Leaning against the paddock fence, he watched over Iphianeira as she took Xanthos for a ride. 

At first, he had numerous misgivings, despite Iphianeira’s loud insistence that she was the best horse rider in all of Delphi. The stallion had been more than a little unpredictable at best in the past. Xanthos surprised him, however, becoming docile once Iphianeira hoisted herself onto his back. It was as if he was an old and sweet-tempered pony instead of the fiery-spirited warhorse Zagreus knew he could be.

"You must have had a great master once, to be so well-trained," he murmured as he and Iphianeira worked to rub him down in the stables afterwards. “Not that bloody prince, of course. Someone else used to take care of you, didn’t they? Taught you how to be gentle with small children. I can tell.” 

Xanthos bobbed his head forward and whickered. Zagreus raised an eyebrow. 

“Do you think he understands what I’m saying?” he said to Iphianeira. The young girl giggled and patted Xanthos on his broad shoulders. 

“Of course he does. He’s a smart horsie.”

That night, Zagreus sat down with Iapyx's family for dinner and learned that both the sanctuary and its town below were named Delphi. Many of the priestesses working in the sacred precinct had homes and families in town and the laypeople of Delphi kept the sanctuary well supplied with myrrh for incense and goats for sacrifices. In return, the flood of pilgrims seeking the Oracle’s aid at the temple brought steady income to the region.

“The Oracle normally only gives prophecies after winter, when Lord Apollo returns to Delphi from the North. So, we always have an influx of pilgrims on the first day of spring,” Iapyx told Zagreus over the noisy dinner table. Crammed shoulder to shoulder around the long wooden table, the members of Iapyx’s family were noisy and cheerful, constantly jostling each other to reach for the serving dishes. The warmth of their household filled Zagreus up as much as the wine and food, and the ache of his ribs felt like an afterthought. 

That, or the medication Iapyx had given him was working incredibly well.

“What happens during the winter then?” Zagreus asked. “I guess no one really travels during winter, anyway.”

“There was that one group of Athenians, remember? That came here even when the snow was falling,” Iapyx’s mother pointed out and Zagreus unconsciously grimaced at his flatbread. She raised a greying eyebrow, amused. “Not a fan of Athens?”

“Their prince is an ass,” Zagreus mumbled into his wine. Just remembering Thymoetes’ smug face made the wine sour in his mouth. 

“Well, you’ll have to play nice here in Delphi. It doesn’t matter what kingdom you’re from— all are welcome to seek counsel from the gods,” she chided gently and Zagreus rubbed the back of his head bashfully. 

Iapyx tapped his chin. “I remember those Athenians. One of them sprained his ankle slipping on the ice. Those fellows left in quite a hurry, though, once they realized it was a waste of a journey.” His eyes slid over to Zagreus. “I think that’s what your horse reminded me of. They had a lot of well-bred steeds in that group.”

Zagreus swallowed hard and quickly changed the subject. “So where does Lord Apollo go during the winter?” 

“Well, it’s said he visits the Hyperboreans up north. Delphi is his summer home, of sorts, and Lord Dionysus sojourns in his place during the winter. Stories go, if you enter the sanctuary during the full moon, you’ll see one of his satyr circles, dancing under the moonlight,” the doctor said, with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

Zagreus’ eyes widened. “Really?”

“That, or the young men and women from the neighborhood are sneaking up there with their mead and beer,” Iapyx’s mother laughed. “I remember one summer you got chased down the mountainside by the Pythia herself. Your father was ready to make you crawl back on your hands and knees in apology!”

Iapyx flushed, scratching at his chin. “No need to bring up the misadventures of my youth, Mother.”

“In the end, my husband was the one who went to kneel in apology to the Oracle. He was afraid she was going to curse him,” she whispered to Zagreus with a twinkle in her eye. “Instead, she just sent him back down the mountain and told him to speak to his son, for she foresaw a great and virtuous path for him. So my husband came back home and, what did you know, the first thing Iapyx did was announce that he was going to study medicine and make the two of us proud. To this day, I think to myself, whatever was in that mead that night straightened him out good!” 

“Mother, please!” Iapyx’s blush had spread to the tips of his ears and he started fiddling with the golden ring he wore on his pinky. It was an endearing sight, for a full-grown man to be teased by his mother, and Zagreus felt an old ache echo in his heart.

He only had faint memories of Philomenus’ wife, before she passed away, and they had never been particularly close. His grief had been mostly for Parias, Polycaste, and Philomenus, in seeing the pain of their loss. As for his birthmother, she remained a mystery to him. Would she have teased him like Iapyx’s mother? Or cared for him? Scolded him or worried for him? Had she even wanted him?

Zagreus shook his head. He had no time for these sorts of thoughts now. Thanatos had set him on a new path and given him a new purpose. He had to concentrate on saving Philomenus and bringing back Persephone. 

Still, in moments like these, he felt the old, familiar feelings rear their heads and it was difficult to tamp down the longing. 

“So, what brings you to Delphi, Zagreus?” Iapyx’s mother asked.

He found himself explaining the bare bones of his quest, carefully skirting around any mentions of Thanatos. The god had requested not to be named, after all, and Zagreus didn’t want to cast a pallor over the dining table if the family turned out to be the superstitious sort. To his surprise and relief, though, they listened solemnly, without a hint of disbelief or ridicule. Being so close to the mysteries of Delphi had given them a healthy respect and candor about the gods.

“I’ve never heard of this Goddess of Verdure, but the Pythia is indeed the one to ask,” Iapyx said, before his brow furrowed. “But, actually, I heard a bit of news earlier today in the _agora_. She seems to be refusing a lot of folks recently, so it may be difficult to get an audience with her.”

Zagreus frowned. He had never considered the possibility that the Oracle would not be able to aid him. “She’s been refusing folks? Any reason?” 

Iapyx let out a little helpless laugh. “I can’t say. I hear a lot of hubbub about bad omens these days. But that’s hardly my area of expertise.” 

“The omens tend to improve if you bring enough gold to the Temple,” Iapyx’s mother said, amusement thick in her voice, and Zagreus thought of his empty pockets with a wince. 

Across the table, Iphianeira met his eye and mouthed ‘five obols’, before jerking her head out towards the paddock. 

Seeing his expression, Iapyx’s mother was quick to reassure him. “It’s not like the Pythia is the only one capable of divining the future for you. The priests and priestesses at the sanctuary are all skilled. So even if the Oracle can’t meet with you, someone else will help. That’s what the Temple is here for, after all.”

“Mother, for something like this, I really think it’s best he goes to Clymene,” Iapyx interjected, brow furrowed. “After all, only the Pythia is handpicked and trained directly by Lord Apollo himself—”

“I’m just trying to give him some other options, in case Clymene decides not to meet with him. You know how these oracles are. They’re a little… hard to understand, even at the best of times,” Iapyx’s mother said, giving her son a look. “He should have a backup, in case.” 

“I’m sure Clymene will know that this is important, Mother. The Oracle might be hard to understand, but this is the Goddess of Verdure, after all,” Iapyx said with a touch of exasperation in his voice. 

“I mean no disrespect, of course. It’s just… the prophetic types. They really march to the beat of their own drums. They’ve got… different priorities,” Iapyx’s mother said, fluttering her hands in the air. “You know how I feel about them sometimes.”

Iapyx pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mother, please. Are we really going to be talking about this now?” 

Zagreus had the suspicion he had just blundered into some long-standing disagreement for which he had no context for. The other children looked utterly disinterested in the conversation, and had started to sneak scraps off their plates to feed the cat in the corner. 

His mother insisted, “It’s just, I don’t want anyone to be wasting their time waiting—”

“He wouldn’t be wasting his time, Mother and neither am I. Waiting is not a problem if you already know what you want. There’s no point in settling half-heartedly for something else, just because it seems like the easier path. If I’m fine with it and if he’s fine with it, what’s the problem?” Iapyx turned sharply to Zagreus and demanded, “You’re fine with waiting for a chance to speak with the Oracle, right?”

Startled, Zagreus took a moment to gather his wits. “Uh, if I have to, I’ll sit on her doorstep every day until she sees me. Rain or shine.” 

Iapyx let out a huff of laughter, before catching himself and trying to appear stern. “As your doctor, I do not recommend that.”

“You were the one that asked!” Zagreus shot back helplessly, before glancing back at Iapyx’s mother, trying to assess if an argument was on the horizon.

To his surprise, Iapyx’s mother was laughing behind her hand. “Alright, my son. Your point is made. You know I only pester because I worry. But even if I don’t understand your choices, I should let you make them, right? That’s what your father always used to say, anyhow.”

Iapyx gave her a little smile. 

That ended that thread of the conversation and dinner resumed, noisy as ever, after that. Iapyx’s mother resumed her good humor and the children continued to squabble over the table. Iapyx chided them in turn for feeding the cat and broke up a fight between Iphianeira and her brother for the last honey-covered bun.

Still, throughout the remainder of the meal, Zagreus noticed that the doctor occasionally would fall silent, rubbing away at his golden ring with a strange, faraway look in his brown eyes. 

Later that night, Zagreus had a hard time falling asleep. Whatever medicine for the pain Iapyx had given him had worn off, and each time he inhaled too deeply, his ribs burned painfully. He could breathe shallowly as he lay in bed, but whenever he started to nod off, his breathing would slip into a deeper, fuller pattern, and the pain would jolt him awake again. 

After an hour of this, Zagreus had enough and got up from his small cot to take a stroll. Hopefully, the cool night air would soothe his aching lungs.

Outside, the night sky looked as if it was supported by the dark mountains that cradled Delphi. The wind rustled lightly through the tall grass, and Zagreus wrapped his borrowed _himation_ around his shoulders to avoid the chill. In the distance, he could see the flickering torch lights of the sanctuary, nestled in the shadow of the broad mountainside, still burning even this late at night.

Somewhere on that mountainside resided the Oracle, the voice of the gods and his hope for saving Philomenus’ life. 

His bare feet trod the path to the paddock and saw that Xanthos had stuck his head out of the stable door. He went to the horse and gently patted it on its forelock.

"Can't sleep either?" he asked.

Xanthos let out a low huff and nudged his hand with his nose. 

"Or maybe you just wanted to look at the stars. I do that too, sometimes," Zagreus murmured. He had never been particularly good at sleeping, even when he was a child. Staring up at the heavens helped calm his head and made him feel a little less lonely during those long hours. 

Tonight, in particular, he had no desire to be alone.

He had kept the chaos of the day's events at bay until now. Now they rushed back at him like a river engorged with rainwater, threatening to drown him in their tide. He had started his morning with a hunt and ended up fighting for his life against a monstrous giant. He had challenged a prince of Athens to his face and then stolen his horse by chasing it all the way to Delphi. 

He felt like a pebble tossed into the waters of the Fates, buffeted and battered against the muddy banks. Suspicions and worries churned in his mind, giving him no respite, despite the exhaustion seeping into all of his limbs. The familiar lonesome ache had also returned, lodging itself like a stone within his ribcage. 

“I don’t suppose you have any answers, my friend.” He stroked Xanthos’ broad neck in search of comfort and the horse allowed him to lean against his warm bulk. The action grounded him and he laughed when Xanthos blew hot air over his forehead.

He had never thought himself particularly attached to horses before, and he had never seen one grow to tolerate a stranger so quickly. It made his heart soften with gratitude. 

“Even if you didn’t exactly choose to be here with me, I promise I’ll take good care of you,” Zagreus said quietly. “It’s the least you deserve.”

Xanthos inclined his head forward, eyes gleaming wetly in the starlight, and neighed. In the darkness, the two of them stood together, tiny creatures upon the dark earth, underneath Night’s great firmament. 

In the forests several miles south of Delphi, Iphios emerged into a clearing with his nose to the ground. The hound was weary, but determined, having caught the scent of his master once again. Days of travel had left his white and brown coat patchy with dust and, although his stomach gnawed with hunger, his eyes and nose remained as sharp as ever.

The trail had led him to a clearing that smelled of split blood and something else, something darker and fouler. Here, the dirt had been overturned, as if by the trampling feet of many men, and there, in the bushes, a deer had been slain and bled onto the undergrowth. His master had been in this clearing for quite some time, for his signature scent of the burnt undergrowth lingered in the air. Yet, there was something else that soured the air, adding a layer of ash and sulfur that Zagreus had never smelled like.

His nose led him to a patch of soot and, at once, the hound recoiled back, with a sharp growl. Whatever creature had left its mark here stank of soiled earth. His master’s scent did not stop there, however, but went northward, through a trail of broken underbrush. It seemed that Zagreus had run from this clearing, along with a large horse that smelled of storm winds and salt-soaked waves. Bolstered by the lead, the hound was just about to forge on through that path, when a loud bell toll rang through the clearing.

At once, every single hair on Iphios’ body rose up in alarm.

A man, reeking of smoke and death, appeared in the middle of the clearing. He did not touch the forest floor, hovering a foot above it, and he carried upon his back a scythe that gleamed in the moonlight. Every fiber of the hound’s being shivered, for he knew, down to his bones, what this unearthly creature was. 

_Death himself._

“Zagreus?” the god called out, voice filled with tension. He swung out in large circles around the clearing, looking for something. 

Ears flattening against his skull, Iphios crouched into the soil with the edge of a terrified growl caught in his throat. All his instincts screamed for him to run, to flee, and to not come back. But Iphios did not move.

The god had spoken his master’s name.

Hidden behind an uprooted tree, he watched as the agitated god floated around the clearing twice, before taking off towards a hill to the south. It was the direction Iphios had just come from, and the dog hesitated for a moment. The trail towards his master was behind him, deeper into the forest. But the smell of anger and fear rolling off the god had captured his attention.

Listening to his instincts, Iphios slunk after him. 

Ahead of him, the god had stopped in front of a sturdy oak and was in the midst of pulling out a large, brown-grey cloth that had been stuffed within its trunk. With a start, Iphios recognized them as his master's clothes, for they carried the scent of not just Zagreus, but of lovely Euthalia as well. He could smell the oils of her perfume soaked into those fibers, from the hours she had spent weaving that heavy wool at her looms. Here was the definitive proof Iphios needed that his master had indeed passed by here.

The god, however, was uninterested and threw the cloth aside in order to continue rummaging in the tree trunk. He pulled open Zagreus’ hunting pack and frowned at the odds and ends within it. Iphios watched, confused, as he discarded aside clothes, rations, and camping gear. The god had just extracted a bag of jerky that made Iphios' mouth water, when something small fell with a thump to the forest floor.

Iphios’ ears perked up. 

It was his master’s toy, the ratty one with cotton ears and silk ribbon. Zagreus had scolded him once for gnawing on it. Despite having been dropped into a barrel of wine by accident once and forgotten under a bed for several months, the plush rat remained recognizable for always smelling like Zagreus, like dark earth and banked fires. 

The god noticed the fallen toy as well and froze at the sight of it.

“Mort?” 

Iphios watched as Death reached out with a trembling hand to pick up the little rat off the ground. The god held the toy gingerly within his creaking metal gauntlet and, with great care, brushed the lingering dirt off its stomach. 

Iphios could smell the sour anger rising upon the god’s lips and he whimpered low in his throat. 

Still holding onto the toy, the god haphazardly shoved all of Zagreus’ belongings back into his bag and ripped the travel pack out of the tree trunk. The gesture made Iphios’ hackles rise. 

Was this a thief intending to take off with his master’s belongings? He couldn’t allow such a thing.

Heedless of his previous fear, Iphios burst into the clearing with a loud bark. 

“What in the world—?” 

Startled, the god whirled around and dropped the tiny plush in his hand. The toy bounced across the ground before rolling to a stop in front of Iphios. 

The hound lunged for it and had just clamped his teeth onto its soft underbelly when the god dove down and seized the toy as well. Glaring at each other, neither let go, locking themselves into a standstill. 

Iphios growled from deep within his throat.

“Give this back. It’s not yours,” the god ordered harshly, and tried to tug the toy from Iphios’ jaws. With his formidable strength, he ended up pulling Iphios right off his two front paws. “Drop it, boy!” 

The dog hung on, however, shaking his head wildly to try and dislodge the thief’s hand. Caught between the two, the toy gave a sad squeak and the sound of fabric ripping filled the air. 

Alarm filled the god’s face and he let go at once. Iphios dropped back down to the ground and victoriously leapt around the clearing with his prize intact in his mouth. Then he growled up at the god a couple more times for good measure and dropped the spit-covered toy between his paws. 

The god still had his master’s clothes bundled up in one arm. 

Iphios barked a couple times, but the god didn’t even flinch. Instead he gave Iphios a haughty and displeased expression. 

“You’re _his_ dog, aren’t you? He left you behind, did he?” 

Not understanding the god’s words, Iphios struck the ground with his paws and yelped a few more times. 

The god pursed his lips. Then, in a flash of light, he shifted through the air faster than Iphios could blink and snatched away the toy from between Iphios’ legs. The hound started barking in protest, but the god quickly backed away and held the little rat plush in his hand high above his head. 

“Enough. I don’t have time to play around with you,” he declared, irritation thick in his voice. He shouldered the bag, the clothes, and the toy, turning to leave.

But Iphios would not give up so easily. 

Just as the sound of a crashing gong filled the air and light flooded the clearing, the hound leapt up and snagged the edge of that black cowl with his teeth. The wind howled around them and the air itself _twisted_ to accommodate Death Incarnate.

Then the dust settled and both hound and Death had vanished from the clearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:
> 
> [1] The sacred precinct of Delphi lies in the Pleistos Valley, underneath the foot of Mount Parnassus. This sanctuary-temple complex contains several important sites including the Temple of Apollo, the treasuries of the Greek city states, and the omphalos, the 'navel of the earth'. Delphi is considered the center of the world, for when Zeus released two eagles from the ends of the earth, they crossed in flight over Delphi. Apollo was also said to have slew the great serpent Python at Delphi and he subsequently established his temple upon his enemy's former home. Thus, the Delphic Oracle is also called 'Pythia' and Delphi, 'Pytho', in honor of this victory. 
> 
> [2] Horses were an important component of Ancient Greek warfare, and feature prominently within their myths and legends. They are closely associated with Poseidon, for he is either their father or tamer, and it was he who bestowed horses upon the mortals and taught them how to use a bridle to tame the beasts. Being expensive and difficult to rear, horses were a status symbol of the elite. Ancient Greeks rode mostly bareback or with riding blankets, for the saddle and stirrup had not yet been invented. Usage in mounted cavalry was light, due to ancient horses being smaller and less muscular than their later medieval counterparts. Chariots were more popular, for both racing and war, and feature prominently within the Homeric epics.
> 
> 🐴


	9. River of Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switched the rating to Mature. There aren't any particular scenes in this chapter that warranted the change, but given the trajectory of the story, I thought it prudent to make this change earlier rather than later. 
> 
> Much thanks to spleen for helping me untangle this arc and my two betas, jules and pedxing, once again. This chapter suffered upwards of eight rewrites and I am every grateful for their patience in dealing with my overwrought creative convulsions.

Deep in the Underworld, Hypnos was fast asleep. 

With Lord Hades still missing from the House, the number of shades waiting for his return had swelled in the reception hall, and it had become difficult to get some peace and quiet there. So earlier, Hypnos had made up some excuse about not having a shade's record and ducked over to the administrative chamber, intending on getting a quick nap hidden in the stacks. On his way, he had spotted the extremely comfy looking recliner that stood on the balcony overlooking the Styx. It had called to him at once.

This was normally his brother Thanatos’ spot, where he liked to pace and brood, overlooking the roiling red waters of the Styx. But Thanatos hadn’t been back in ages, and besides, Hypnos had never seen him use that recliner anyway. The God of Sleep suspected that the Underworld Prince had once ordered this piece of furniture as an ill-concealed attempt to suggest to Thanatos to relax for once. 

Not that trying to out-passive-aggressive Thanatos ever worked. 

So Hypnos had hunkered down on the divan for a well-deserved nap and soon found himself relaxing into the gentle void of his domain. That is, until the sound of crashing cymbals and a strained yelp startled Hypnos awake. 

When he cracked open his eyes, he saw his brother Thanatos had appeared in the middle of the hall, carrying a bulky bag wrapped in a scarlet cloak. Hanging off the back of his robes was a white-and-brown dog, attached to his cowl by its teeth. 

Hypnos stifled a giggle. 

His brother, unaware of his four-legged hitchhiker, floated over to Hypnos and dumped the bag he carried onto the ground carelessly. "Wake up, Brother," he snapped. "Why aren't you at your post?"

“Oh, hey, it’s Thanatos! My favorite brother! Oh, it’s just so good to see you,” Hypnos said, beaming and ignoring Thanatos’ question. Stretching out his arms, he yawned indulgently and watched as the dog landed with a soft thump onto the stone floors of the House. It flattened itself next to the bag, huddling close to the ground, eyes darting frantically at its surroundings. The creature at least had the good sense not to make any noise, considering how foul his brother's mood looked. A sly smile crept over Hypnos’ face as he faced his brother. “What brings you here? You never come to visit these days, and it's been ever so lonely ever since Zagreus went and offed himself to go to the mortal plane—"

"Be quiet for one second, Hypnos," Thanatos threatened and Hypnos promptly shut up, a sunny smile still in place. Thanatos' nose wrinkled distastefully as he struggled with something for a moment. "...I have a question for you."

"For me? You never come to me for advice! Well, no one else does either, but you know, I like to give it out anyway!" Hypnos squinted at his brother. There was something in Thanatos' bearing that could almost be construed as vulnerability if it wasn’t buried under ten layers of mulish anger. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the shades had spotted the creature hiding behind the bag and had begun to mutter frantically among themselves. 

"Your domain associates with the River Lethe, does it not? The memories of those who drink from that accursed river, where do they go?" Thanatos asked curtly. 

That jolted Hypnos’ attention away from the strange dog. Taken aback, he stared at his brother and screwed up his face in thought. "You know, that's a good question! I've never thought about it. I imagine they sort of just go, _poof_ , back to Chaos and all!" His fingers splayed out in a 'poofing' motion and he chuckled to himself. Thanatos’ scowl didn’t abate, but he gave Hypnos the slightest of nods.

"They're unmade outside of the soul. Memory isn't tangible after all."

"I guess?" Hypnos pulled his knees up to his chin mid-air and chewed thoughtfully on the end of the feather in his hair. "Now, though, if you want to remember something, you should hit up my old buddy Mnemosyne! One sip from her spring and _bam_ , you'll remember every embarrassing memory you ever wished you forgot!"

Thanatos raised his eyebrows. "You're friends with that Titaness? Scratch that, she's still alive?"

"Oh yeah, our domains kind of intersect, you know! Dreams are good for forgetting, but they're also good for remembering. She's a real busy single mom these days, with those nine Muses and all, but we still write from time to time," Hypnos said, waggling his eyebrows sleazily. 

Thanatos grimaced. "I don't even want to know. So, what, I just get him to drink from this spring and his memories will come back? Where can I find Mnemosyne these days?"

Hypnos stared at his brother, befuddled for a moment before the dots connected. With a yelp, he uncurled from his ball and exclaimed, “Wait, wait, wait a moment. You aren’t talking about Zagreus, are you?” 

Thanatos’ stony silence was all the answer he needed on the matter. Down below their feet, the dog quivered. 

Hypnos squinted at his brother in confusion. “Mother Nyx told me you guys washed him in the Lethe so he could reincarnate. What, you want him to remember us again? Why?"

That had been the wrong question to ask. Thanatos’ golden eyes flashed and he hissed, “Is that not obvious? You know what I found today?” 

Hypnos’ eyes slid down to the bag on the ground and the dog crouched next to it. “Someone’s dirty bag?”

Thanatos didn’t even bother to look down, too busy seething with anger. “Not that. I found Mort, tossed aside on the battlefield. He… he _lost_ him, Hypnos. And...” 

His brother trailed off, looking bitter and furious, clutching his shoulders. It was a defensive gesture that Hypnos hadn’t seen in centuries. The last time had been when they were godlings, and Thanatos and Zagreus had gotten chewed out for running around Tartarus by themselves. Hypnos had missed out on the fun, too busy napping on top of Cerberus, but Lord Hades’ subsequent shouting had woken him up. He remembered that, while Zagreus had seethed and pouted through the lecture, Thanatos had simply folded in on himself smaller and smaller as he bit his lip bloody. 

To see the gesture here, wrapped in the bristling anger of a fully grown god, made his brother look young and volatile. Dangerous to others, if not himself. The sight made the smile drop off Hypnos’ face. 

“His lord father’s shades have already found him. Blood was spilled and several men died by its hand. I felt it. He could be next. Right now, he’s a fool who doesn’t know a thing. If he could remember, then at least all the experience he had down here—”

With an unpleasant start, Hypnos realized what his brother could not, stuck in his agitated state. "You think he wants to remember?"

That effectively stopped his brother’s tirade. "What?!"

"I mean, most mortals only die once. Twice if they're really, really lucky," Hypnos said, nonchalantly. He gestured at the list he had abandoned on the recliner and at how the names kept rolling in, a blur next to the ever-different causes. "But Zagreus died a lot. And this next one of his is permanent, isn't it? Don't you think that'll really mess him up? I mean, you know better than me how mortals get about Death."

Thanatos froze. 

“Not to mention, could his mind even handle all those memories? It might just drive him mad,” Hypnos added, cheerfully. “His brain might leak out of his ears like soup! Men have lost their wits over less.” 

For additional emphasis, Hypnos waggled his fingers next to his ears.

" _E_ _nough_ ,” his brother hissed. Frustration filled his face and he dug his fingers so hard into his bicep that Hypnos was sure he was bruising himself. The dog lifted his head curiously, but Thanatos didn’t even notice the stir of movement. “I… can see your point. _Ugh._ It’s asinine that you, of all people, are telling me this.” 

“I am right, aren’t I?” Hypnos said gleefully before shrugging. “I mean, what’s the big deal? He dies, he washes up here, he’ll never get out again! Isn’t that what everyone wanted? What you wanted? Sure, he won’t remember any of us, but that won’t matter in a century or so! You can just… wait! What’s that Lord Hades always says? No escape!”

“I never said that’s what I wanted,” Thanatos snarled so viciously that even Achilles from down the hall glanced over. But the fight went out of him almost at once. Hypnos peered at his brother curiously, only for Thanatos to turn towards the Styx and hide his face under the shadow of his cowl. “That’s… not what he would have wanted.”

“What does it matter? That boy out there isn’t Zagreus, son of Hades. He’s not going to remember what Zagreus wanted anyway,” Hypnos said, kicking up his legs and leaning back against the divan. He noticed that the dog was attempting to shimmy under the furniture now that his brother’s back was turned, and he winked at it. 

The Underworld Prince that they had grown up with was a dream that had faded with the morning’s waking. Zagreus was a sweet impression that remained hazy in one’s mind, but whose details could never be revisited nor relived. The harder one tried to recall such a dream, the sooner it dissolved like mist upon water. Hypnos was used to forgetting such things. He was an expert on the matter. 

Thanatos spun around, bristling. “He’s—”

Before he could finish his sentence, his eyes landed on the dog on the ground. Shock rolled through his face, followed swiftly by anger. Hypnos pressed his fingers to his mouth in suppressed mirth.

The dog let out a whimper.

Chaos broke out in the House of Hades.

“You!” Thanatos snapped and swiped for the dog. It yelped in terror, dodging Death’s hand, and fled up the hall. The shades startled as a white-and-brown blur sprinted past them. Down the hall, Achilles leapt into action, blocking the path towards Lord Hades’ bedchambers and moving to intercept the dog. 

Then, a loud bark rang through the halls, and Cerberus, with all three mouths lolling open, burst into the west hall. The shades in his path scattered in a panic.

The infernal watchdog had caught sight of the tiny white-and-brown hound streaking past and the sight roused him to his feet. All three heads swiveled to fix upon the intruder and, barking and skidding on the slick stone floors, Cerberus opened pursuit. 

Panicked, the little dog let out a high-pitched yelp and spun around to flee back towards the balcony. It got all the way to the end of the hall before it realized there was nowhere to go, and pressed itself up against the railing with its whole body quivering in terror. 

Seeing the dog cornered, Cerberus rushed forward.

With the reflexes he had honed at Troy, Achilles dove for the great hellhound just in time and managed to get a hand on one of its skull-embedded collars. With a great tug, the hero managed to restrain Cerberus from barreling right off the balcony, taking both the dog and himself into the Styx. The infernal watchdog strained against the thick arms of the former _Aristos Achaion_ , claws skittering upon the marble and yelping excitedly. Its jaws snapped mere inches away from the frightened hound. 

"A little help here!" Achilles huffed, back trembling with the effort to hold back the great guardian of Hades. 

Looking furious, Thanatos vanished in a violent crash of a cymbal. Achilles barely had a second to look incredulous before Hypnos burst out laughing. 

“Lord Hypnos!” Achilles said through gritted teeth. He had to duck wildly as one of Cerberus’ heads tried to take a bite out of his arms. 

“Okay, okay,” Hypnos wheezed and wiped away his tears. He let his power seep into his fingertips, dripping like the milky nectar of his poppies, and then released it over Cerberus. One of the heads of Cerberus fell asleep at once, drooping towards the floor. The other heads, however, only grew more frenzied, howling and thrashing against Achilles’ grip. “Oh, three heads, right—”

Before he could get to it, however, Thanatos reappeared with a deep bell toll, clutching a fetid-smelling sack in his gauntlet. 

The two remaining heads of Cerberus rose, sniffing the air, while the third one snored loudly. The great hellhound stopped struggling against Achilles and slowly followed their noses to Thanatos.

Death Incarnate held up his other hand and pointed at the ground. "Sit, boy."

The rump of Cerberus hit the ground so fast that the ground shook. The third head jolted awake at the motion, blinking blearily at his surroundings. 

"You are to leave that dog alone, you hear me? His master would be upset if you ate him, understand?" Thanatos ordered.

Cerberus' tail thumped rapidly against the ground. Green drool dripped from two of his mouths, as all three pairs of bright eyes fixed onto the swaying sack. 

"Go on then." With a flick of his wrist, Thanatos tossed the sack down the hall, towards Lord Hades' bedchambers. Cerberus bounced up and took off after his treat so fast that Achilles had to release his collar, so as not to be dragged to the ground. Hypnos stifled more laughs as the shades hastily fled from Cerberus' exuberant destruction of the sack, before turning back to his brother. 

“A neat trick,” Achilles murmured under his breath, sharp eyes glancing towards Thanatos. 

Thanatos’ mouth tightened at the corners. “I never tried it for myself before.”

The pair of them then turned towards the hound on the balcony, who bared its teeth in fear. 

“It's a living dog," Achilles murmured in amazement, the faintest tremor of wistfulness in his voice. "You brought him here, O Death?"

"It was an accident," Thanatos said sharply, sending a withering glare at the hound. "It latched onto me of its own accord.” 

“If you wanted a pet, brother, we could have found you one that Cerberus wouldn’t eat as a snack,” Hypnos exclaimed, floating over on his stomach and resting his chin on folded hands. The focus of Thanatos’ ire swung around onto Hypnos’ head. 

“Ridiculous. As if I have time for a pet,” his brother bit off. Hypnos grinned.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t want one!”

"Few creatures would be so brave. He must have a good reason to follow Death into the bowels of hell," Achilles said thoughtfully and knelt on the ground. He whistled, low and soothing, and one of the dog’s crooked ears flopped up. When Achilles beckoned, though, the hound still didn't move, flanks quivering in distress. The hero’s shade frowned. "You mentioned Cerberus' master earlier. This dog... He wouldn't, ah, belong to someone in particular?" 

Neither Hypnos nor Achilles missed how Thanatos’ scowl deepened. 

“Ah… so I thought. Well, regardless, he can’t remain here. This realm is not suitable for those that still live,” Achilles murmured. “Will you take him back to the surface, my lord? Back to his master?”

Thanatos’ jaw was so clenched so tight that Hypnos could hear his teeth grinding. “You take liberties, shade. I cannot simply take creatures out of the Underworld. There is to be no escape. Even those that end up here by their own foolish decisions.”

The dog whimpered.

“Is it escape, if you deliver him purposefully?” Achilles said evenly. “I’m certain his master would be grateful. Many would weep over the loss of such a loyal companion. Unless there is a reason to inflict such a needless cruelty here?”

Thanatos’ lips curled. “You presume much about what reasons may motivate a god.”

Silence filled the space between them as Achilles looked up at Thanatos’ hard face. The forgotten hero seemed to be searching for something in Death’s cold expression and sighed when he could not find it.

“Perhaps it is not the same for you gods, but I know too well what cruelties a man may be pushed to do, under the right circumstances,” he said, wearily, before hesitating. “...At least allow me to first offer my meager life experience to you before you make your decision.”

Hypnos cocked his head in confusion, but Thanatos seemed to take the shade’s words in with a bitter expression on his face. He waved a hand in permission. 

“I am not so foolish as to say your life experience has been meager, Achilles, hero of Troy. Speak your counsel.” 

Achilles’ grip on his spear tightened as he straightened up and, for a moment, the glory of his mortal days flowed through him once more, rendering even the gods dim and hazy in comparison. His voice rose, cutting through the perpetual low groan of the shades within the House of Hades. 

“Anger can justify all atrocities in the minds of men. But, in my experience, these acts made in such a rage provide little solace and much suffering. And sometimes, it only leads to further loss. You still have time, O Death. If you do not know when to indulge in your rage and when to soften it, you may become unmade by it. Otherwise, there may come a day where he is lost to you forever.”

Then Achilles slumped and the shade of the forgotten hero had returned, spent and faded. 

Thanatos regarded this once-great shade in his dominion before replying quietly, “I see your wisdom, son of Peleus. But, he is already lost to me.”

Hiding his expression behind a curtain of his hair, Achilles bowed his head. “Then, I have no other counsel to give.”

Without another word, Thanatos went to grab the scarlet cloak and travel pack off the ground. When he returned to the balcony, he reached down and seized the shivering dog by the scruff of its neck. The dog started to thrash at once, and sunk his teeth into Thanatos’ forearm.

Hypnos flinched as golden ichor welled up on Thanatos’ skin. Death Incarnate didn’t even blink, however, and kept a steady grip on the hound. “Get back to your post,” he snapped to his brother. Then, he vanished, along with the dog, in a flash of green light. 

“Whoa, he actually listened to you,” Hypnos muttered in awe. “He never listens to me like that.”

“Perhaps it is because you are both gods, and are unaccustomed to loss and the grief it brings,” Achilles said, droll amusement fluttering over his lips. The expression quickly faded, however, and muted exhaustion replaced it. His eyes fell upon the drops of golden blood that had been left gleaming on the floor. “We mortals know a thing or two about accepting our circumstances… or breaking ourselves upon the earth in an attempt to change them.” 

“Nah, I think he just doesn’t want to admit I’m right,” Hypnos said confidently to himself. The fallen hero of Troy gave him a wry smile before resuming his post. 

Settling back in the divan, Hypnos wrapped his blanket more firmly around him. Maybe the problems would resolve themselves after he took another nap.

He, unlike this mortal Zagreus, was a god after all. He had all the time in the world.

_Clang! Clang! Clang!_

At the sound of the evening resting bell being rung, Zagreus startled awake, disoriented. His nightmare of a great flaming field and sulfur choking his lungs had already begun to dissipate as he blinked in the dusty golden light that filtered into the _bouleuterion_ of Delphi.He had fallen asleep wedged between shelves of records in the corner of the assembly room, with a scroll he didn’t remember picking up dangling from his limp wrist. Every inch of his body ached from having held such an awkward position while unconscious.

Slowly, he pushed himself off the floor and ran his tongue against the filmy roof of his mouth, grimacing at how dusty and parched his throat felt. The heat of the sun had been particularly unbearable today, and he remembered walking into the records room to look for a place to hide from its glare. The coolness of the marble floor mixed with the warm air enclosed in the stone walls had turned soporific by midafternoon and, hidden in the stacks, he must have nodded off, undisturbed. 

When he got to his feet, his joints popped unpleasantly and his ribs creaked, still tender. Rather than refreshing him, his brief nap had only made him feel heavy and off-kilter. He had never fallen asleep in broad daylight before. 

Then again, he also couldn’t remember a time he had felt this exhausted. It was his seventh day in the sanctuary of Delphi.

Every day for the last week, he had climbed the mountain slope to reach the marble-columned Temple of Apollo at dawn and added his name to the day’s queue for consultations with the Oracle. And every day, he, along with every other supplicant, had been turned away.

“The gods have spoken. The Oracle will not be giving any consultations today,” the stony-faced high priestess would announce from the steps of the Temple before slamming the great bronze doors shut. 

The first time it had happened, Zagreus had been standing around the entire morning, nervous with tension, in the line that curved all the way down from the courtyard to the processional path. The high priestess’s pronouncement brought forth a disappointment so grave that he barely remembered stumbling back down the mountain. 

“Take a rest and go back in a couple days,” Iapyx had suggested that night as he prodded at Zagreus’ ribs. “You look exhausted. Not to mention, you’ll get heatstroke.”

Zagreus had shaken his head, however, even as his ribs hurt horribly and his sun-inflamed skin peeled pink. “I’ll go back tomorrow.”

Iapyx had scowled, before sighing. “...At least take a hat.”

So he did. The next day, he ascended to the sanctuary once again, this time with a borrowed _petasos_ from Iapyx keeping the sun out of his eyes. He once again waited in line, part of the milling mass of supplicants that had arrived from all walks of life. From kings of Crete to peasants of Thessaly, these men and women all brought their woes and issues to the feet of the Pythia. The topics of their questions were as diverse as they were, from wars to marriage, famine to riches, and the answers they searched for would, no doubt, shape the futures of many people. 

And once again, the Pythia refused them all, from the richest king to the poorest beggar. 

When Zagreus asked the priestesses what was going on, his questions were met with vague assertions of bad omens and ill tidings. So, on the third day, he sacrificed to each of the gods, upon their altars around the sanctuary, albeit with great trepidation, for he remembered his last botched offering. “Show me the path forward, Lady Athena,” he murmured as he raised his hands up to the sky. 

This time, the earth did not rattle underneath his feet, but nor did he receive a reply from the grey-eyed maiden of war. 

On the fourth day, he attempted to bribe one of the priests, with a couple of obols he had earned from Iphianeira. He had let her take Xanthos to a local racetrack, in which she cleared out the competition and won drachma after drachma in the betting ring until the track manager banned her from competing. Both rider and steed had trotted back looking far too impressed with themselves that night and Iphianeira had dropped a couple coins into Zagreus’ palm with a grin. When Zagreus attempted the same, though, the priest, however, was unimpressed. 

“You can wait like everyone else, or take a simple consultation with another priestess,” he had said coldly, despite pocketing the money.

On the fifth day, the frustrations of the crowd erupted into violence when a Messenian soldier backhanded a young priest and attempted to force open the Temple doors himself. 

“The Palace of Nestor has been burned to the ground by sea invaders and the Oracle still won’t come and meet us? Have the gods forsaken us? What is to happen to our kingdom?” the soldier bawled. Zagreus had leapt up from his seat on the steps and seized the soldier’s sword arm, to keep him from killing the frightened priest on the spot. 

“Calm yourself, mate!” he panted. 

“Unhand me!” the soldier roared, trying to throw Zagreus off him. “These coddled, arrogant brats that have never seen the battlefield, sitting here in their gilded temples and daring to look down at us— They should learn something of our suffering!” 

Under the blazing Delphic sun, sweat pouring down their backs, the two of them had wrestled with each other until the guards came running and ripped the soldier out of Zagreus’ grasp. The guards threw the soldier out of the temple complex, but not before Zagreus caught a glimpse of how the tears and sweat mingled on his wretched face, dripping down his unshaven cheeks. 

These were the types of desperate men and women that came to seek the Oracle’s guidance. They were not so different from him, looking for a sliver of hope amidst a vast land. The next day, to placate them, the high priestess herself led the rest of the Messenian soldiers to the _stoa_ and sacrificed a whole bull to the gods. Yet, tensions remained bubbling under the surface of Delphi. Some lucky few could accept these readings of burnt bones or oracular stones given by the other priests and priestesses...

But not Zagreus.

He sought a Goddess that none of the priestesses had even heard of. It was a ludicrous mission, they told him. If she even existed, then only the gods knew where. So he waited for the Oracle who was said to read the woven threads of the Fates themselves. 

Now, on the seventh day, after a week of silence, it was clear fatigue was starting to catch up with him.

“Should I go seek another Oracle?” Zagreus muttered to himself as he collected Iapyx’s hat that had fallen by the shelves and beat the dust off it with his hand. “There’s a temple for Zeus at Dodona, but...”

Dodona was another week’s worth of travel to the north, though. He didn’t have the supplies to make such a journey. When he had gone back with Xanthos to the hunting grounds at the beginning of the week, he had found his bag and cloak missing from the tree trunk he had stored them in. All his traveling supplies, the scarlet _chlamys_ Euthalia had wove for him, and especially his beloved childhood plush, the one thing he had from his origins, were all gone.

In a moment of weakness, he had wept frustrated tears into Xanthos’ neck that night and fallen asleep in the barn, in hopes of feeling less pathetically alone. 

For he _was_ all alone, here in Delphi. There was no one he could rely on but himself and, with each passing day, he could feel his confidence start to dwindle. He had only been able to get by so far thanks to the kindness and hospitality of Iapyx’s family, but that couldn’t last forever. He couldn’t, in good conscience, burden the doctor much longer when he had enough mouths to feed. Yet, slinking back to Parias and Euthalia, defeated and penniless, and going back on his pledge to Thanatos was a horrifying thought that Zagreus shoved away as soon as he had it. 

He had to figure this out. He had no other choice.

“Could I get a job?” he grumbled to himself, scratching his head in aggravation. He glared pointedly at the statue of Lord Apollo over the door frame of the _bouleuterion_. “Why won’t your Oracle meet us?”

The statue offered no response. 

Zagreus sighed, resigned. The gods hadn’t looked kindly on him recently and he doubted they were interested in giving him any easy answers. 

Given the bell that had rung earlier, it must have gotten quite late and he didn’t particularly fancy stumbling back to the doctor’s place in the dark. He glanced down at the scroll in his hand, intending to place it back, only to realize that he had no idea where he plucked it from. 

“Seriously?” Staring up at the stacks filled to the brim with scrolls, he grimaced. Something about the sight of so many scrolls densely packed made his eyes cross. “Where are you supposed to go?” 

He picked up another scroll, trying to decipher what the different cabinets might mean, and it unfurled itself in his hands, parchment fluttering onto the ground. The words, ‘ _Hear your fate, O dwellers in Sparta…’,_ rolled under a cabinet and Zagreus swore. 

As he frantically attempted to reroll the parchment without dropping the other scroll in his hand, the door to the _bouleuterion_ banged open with a crash. 

“...leave me alone, Antinoe!” 

A girl’s voice, clearly upset, rang out in the assembly hall, followed by the fast patter of sandals running across the floor. Zagreus froze, arms full of crinkled parchment, as he saw, through the gaps between the scrolls, a blur of a priestess charging past the shelves. 

“Don’t be upset, Theoclea. I know you wanted to be picked, but…” Another voice, Antinoe, Zagreus presumed, spoke in low, soothing tones. 

“It’s not— It’s not just about me! We can’t keep going on like this. It doesn’t… It doesn’t have to be me, but he has to pick _someone!_ ”

“Lady Pherusa said that he was sure to send the sign next time—”

“That’s what she said about the last three times! No, I told you, I know what the problem is. He’s not picking someone because no one here is good enough to replace Lady Clymene and we know it! I have to study more. I have to… I have to get good before the next ceremony!”

The edge of Antinoe’s headdress entered Zagreus’ line of sight as she stopped in front of her friend. Her voice quivered as she said, “You’re already good, Theoclea…”

“No, I’m not! Not enough at least. I have to be better. Lady Clymene said—'' the fiery-tempered one, Theoclea, choked, all of a sudden. When she spoke again, her voice throbbed with the force of her distress. “Lady Clymene said I could be great one day, but I’m not good enough now! Lord Apollo won’t ever choose someone half-baked like me— _augh!”_

The young priestess rounded the corner of the shelf and, upon catching sight of Zagreus, screeched. Her friend came running to her side moments later and gasped. They were both younger than Zagreus by a handful of years, wearing simple headdresses denoting their acolyte status, and looked horrified to find a man holding a scroll that had just finished unraveling upon the ground. 

“Hey, didn’t see you there,” Zagreus greeted them with an awkward grin. “I was just cleaning up, don’t mind me.”

The sharp-tongued one recovered first. _Theoclea,_ Zagreus remembered. With her sun-toasted skin, pointed nose, and narrow eyes, she reminded Zagreus of a fox. She snapped, “W-what are you doing in here? Who let you in here?” 

“Er… I was looking for somewhere to rest out of the sun and, well, no one exactly stopped me from walking in, so…” Zagreus trailed off with a shrug. “It’s a public building, is it not?” 

“But… but look at the mess you made! These are the records of every prophecy the Pythia has given. They are sacred words from the gods and you… _you’ve_ gone and dropped them on the ground!” Theoclea bristled with outrage. Her friend, Antinoe, silently crouched down behind her, in an attempt to gather up the wayward scroll. Her large brown ox-eyes kept glancing up nervously between the two of them. 

“I didn’t mean to drop them on the ground. They kind of dropped themselves on the ground when they… unrolled,” Zagreus defended himself, before processing the rest of the acolyte’s words. “Wait, these are prophecies?”

Theoclea scoffed at him, putting her hands on her hips. “By Apollo, are you stupid? Of course these are prophecies. And they’re not meant for the likes of _you_.”

“Theoclea, you’re being mean,” Antinoe murmured as she finally fished the end of the scroll from under the cabinet and started to roll it back up.

“Well, he should try being less dumb.” Theoclea sniffed.

Zagreus sighed and stared at the wooden-beamed ceiling for strength. He didn’t remember being this rude as a teenager himself. Maybe being a foundling helped deflate his own sense of importance. 

With nothing else to do but hold up the other end of the scroll, he peered at the words on the parchment. The acolytes were right about the contents of the scroll. He could see reams and reams of text that made up the ink-inscribed prophecies. Each prophecy had a date, a question, and the name of the supplicant that had asked the question, neatly printed in several succinct lines. The length of the Pythia’s prophecies, on the other hand, varied wildly. Zagreus just started reading that interesting one about Sparta, when Antinoe rolled that section closed.

“Hey, hang on, can you back up? I wasn’t done with that one,” Zagreus asked. Antinoe hesitated, but started to unroll the scroll again. That is, until Theoclea seized the scroll from her friend and efficiently rolled the remaining parchment, tugging the weighted end out of Zagreus’ hands. 

“I said, these aren’t for the eyes of someone like you!” Theoclea replied briskly as she affixed the ribbon binding the parchment securely and placed it back on the shelf. “Now give me that other scroll and get out of here. The Temple closed to the public an hour ago.” 

Zagreus frowned and a petty part of him kept him from handing the other scroll over. “Why write them down if no one is allowed to read them? What if I wanted to hear what the gods were saying these days?”

“This isn’t a gossip rag in the _agora!_ ” the acolyte huffed. Zagreus could see her nose twitch in agitation. “They’re for study. For us priestesses. Besides, why would you want to… to eavesdrop on other people’s futures, if not for some nefarious purpose? What are you, a voyeur?”

That pricked Zagreus’ nerve. He put one hand on his hip and retorted, “Maybe I wouldn’t be interested in these dusty old prophecies if your Oracle would, well, do her job and give some new ones.”

The two priestesses stiffened. _Gotcha._

Adopting an air of nonchalance, he leaned against the shelf and pretended to study his nails. “You know, you were saying some interesting things earlier. What’s this about Apollo picking someone to replace Clymene? Isn’t that the name of the current Pythia?”

“F-forget it! You didn’t hear anything!” Theoclea growled. She made a swipe for the scroll hanging loosely in Zagreus’ hands, but the habit of roughhousing with his siblings reared its head and Zagreus instinctively raised the scroll out of her grasp. “H-hey! Antinoe, don’t just stand there!” 

“Now why would Clymene need to be replaced? She wouldn’t be indisposed somehow, would she? Your high priestess wouldn’t be lying about these ‘bad omens’ and giving false hope to the dozens of people that travel weeks to Delphi, would you?” Zagreus pressed. 

Antinoe had frozen behind her friend again, guilt plain across her face. She murmured, “N-no, it’s not like that…”

“And you said something about a ceremony? Sounds like it hasn’t worked the last three times though,” Zagreus hummed as he dodged her attempts to grab the scroll.

Theoclea stamped her feet against the marble floor. Her dark curls had started to escape her headdress and her cheeks flushed with anger. She glared at Zagreus with the force of a thunderstorm. 

“Shut up! You don’t understand anything. It’s not our fault that Lord Apollo won’t pick another Pythia even though it’s been over a month since Lady Clymene went missing!”

Then her eyes went wide and her hands flew to her mouth. 

Zagreus raised his eyebrows, even as he could feel a sinking pit in his stomach. “She’s missing, is she?”

_No wonder everyone was being turned away._

“Please don’t mention this to anyone,” Antinoe stammered when Theoclea had gone quiet in shock. “Lady Pherusa forbade us from telling anyone. We’ll be punished severely. You’ll… ruin Theoclea’s chance for the seat. It’s… her life dream.”

“Don’t... don’t tell him that…” Theoclea croaked. 

Looking at the stricken faces of the acolytes, Zagreus couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. As a peace offering, he extended the scroll he had been holding. Theoclea eyed him suspiciously for a moment, before snatching it back with shaky hands and holding it to her chest protectively.

“You realize this can’t go on forever,” he said bluntly and she winced. His mind went to Iapyx, who had helped him with such kindness and spoke so highly of Clymene, and his stomach did another unpleasant lurch. It seemed like not even the townspeople of Delphi knew. “When did she go missing? What happened?”

“I-I told you, it’s none of your business. And I don’t know. But Lord Apollo will pick a new Pythia when we do the ceremony the next time,” Theoclea muttered. Her voice wavered in strength. “You’ll see, just come back in a couple days.”

Zagreus frowned. She did not sound confident in her own words. But the sight of the two acolytes trembling with tension, like animals cornered in their own dens, made him relent. 

_I’ll get my answers elsewhere._

Softening his expression with a smile, he nodded. “Well then, I hope to see you in the seat of the Oracle in a few days then. I’ll be first in line for a consultation.” 

The flattery missed the mark entirely. Theoclea’s jaw clenched and her tiny hands balled up into white-knuckled fists. Before she could explode at Zagreus, however, Antinoe gently slid her hand into her friend’s, unraveling her fists and entangling their fingers. The touch seemed to ease her. Theoclea inhaled shakily and straightened herself up. A shadow of her previous haughtiness returned to her face. “You should go now. I already told you, the Temple is closed for the day. Don’t make me call the guards.”

Zagreus raised an eyebrow, but knew a desperate dismissal when he saw one. With a lazy salute, he turned on his heel and went to leave. He could feel their eyes tracking him as he slipped past the shelves and made his way out of the assembly hall. Only after he cleared the doorway, however, did his smile fade and, in the hazy heat of the afternoon sunlight, his expression hardened. 

_What in Gaia’s name happened to the Oracle of Delphi?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:
> 
> [1] Mnemosyne, born of Ouranos, the Sky, and Gaia, the Earth, is the Titaness of Memory. She is the mother of the Nine Muses, patrons of the arts, and, unlike many of the other Titans, retains a spot in the cosmological order of the world due to her connection to the tradition of epic poetry. Ancient poets often evoked her in their recitations and songs, thanks to the enormous importance of memorization in the Greek oral tradition. The word, mnemonic, a device to help someone remember something, is derived from her name. The water of Mnemosyne played an important counterpart role to the Lethe in certain oracular traditions and secrets, including in the beliefs of the Orphic Dionysian cult.
> 
> [2] Aristos Achaion refers to ‘the greatest of the Achaeans’ and is a term associated with Achilles as the mightiest hero amongst the Achaeans during the war at Troy. The rage and grief of Achilles we will not cover here, but readers interested may look to Homer’s The Iliad. 
> 
> [3] A bouleuterion is an assembly hall in which a council of citizens came to discuss matters of the city-state. As Delphi was not a kingdom in of itself, the sacred precinct was governed by an amphictyony, a league of surrounding neighbors, in recognition of its 'international' religious significance amongst the various kingdoms. Such a league predates the rise of the polis, the city-state, which the Classical Era is famed for.
> 
> [4] A petasos is a flat brimmed hat that travelers and farmers wore in order to keep out the sun, originating from Thessaly. Made of felt, straw, or leather and tied with a strap under the chin, it is considered rural garb. Hermes is occasionally depicted wearing a winged-version of the hat.
> 
> [5] Few prophecies by the Pythia have been preserved and all are from second-hand sources, such as travelers that recorded her words in their writings. The scroll in which Zagreus peeks at references one such prophecy recorded by Herodotus, who is known both as the father of history as well as the father of lies. Here is the prophecy in full, in reference to the conquest of the Athenians and Spartans by the Persian forces of Xerxes the Great:
> 
> Hear your fate, O dwellers in Sparta of the wide spaces;  
> Either your famed, great town must be sacked by Perseus' sons,  
> Or, if that be not, the whole land of Lacedaemon  
> Shall mourn the death of a king of the house of Heracles,  
> For not the strength of lions or of bulls shall hold him,  
> Strength against strength; for he has the power of Zeus,  
> And will not be checked until one of these two he has consumed.


	10. The Mouth of Apollo

Zagreus sprinted down the mountainside from the sanctuary of Apollo as if spurred on by the north wind Boreas himself. He burst into Iapyx’s tent in the _agora,_ red-faced and panting, and shouted, “Doctor, we need to talk!” 

His entrance interrupted the conversation Iapyx was having with his mother by his workbench and, startled, his mother exclaimed, “Dear gods, you look awful. Are you alright?” 

Zagreus opened his mouth to reassure her and started to cough instead. His throat, which had been dry before, felt akin to a desert wasteland now. He could feel the grit that clung to the sweat on his forehead and, with each rattling breath, his ribs tightened in protest. 

“I-I’m fine,” he wheezed out. 

Iapyx rose to his feet, brow furrowed, and fetched Zagreus a jug of watered-down wine. “What did I say about taking it easy? Catch your breath first,” he scolded. 

Zagreus gratefully took the pitcher and started to chug it as fast as possible. Both the doctor and his mother stared at him, one dismayed, the other bemused, as he proceeded to drain the entire jug. After handing the empty jug back to the doctor, he wiped his wine-stained mouth with the back of his hand and blurted out the news that had been burning in his lungs ever since he left the _bouleuterion._

“Clymene has gone missing.”

The empty jug nearly slipped out of Iapyx’s hands. Behind him, his mother let out a little gasp.

After a moment, the doctor managed to recover enough to stammer, “Wh-what do you mean she’s missing? What happened?”

“I overheard these two acolytes in the Temple,” Zagreus explained. The rush of the wine and his frantic dash down the mountainside left his limbs bristling with nervous, agitated energy and he paced in tight, tense circles around the tent. “They said she’s been missing for over a month. They’re even trying to pick a new Oracle. Did you know anything about this?” 

Judging from the shock on the doctor’s face, the answer was no. 

“She’s been missing for over a month?” he breathed in disbelief, face paling.

Before the empty jug could slip out of his trembling hand, Iapyx’s mother pried it out of her son’s grip and placed it down on a nearby table. “Did you say they’re trying to pick a new Oracle already?” she asked, brow furrowed, sounding aggrieved. “So, does that mean… they’ve already given up on finding Clymene?”

Iapyx looked increasingly ill at her words. He swayed on his feet, as if he was the one who had downed an entire carafe of wine, and put his hand on one of the tent posts for stability. 

Zagreus shook his head, albeit tentatively and slowed to a stop. “I don’t know if they’re looking for her or not. But a ‘Lady Pherusa’ told them to hold their silence while they picked the next Oracle. Although, it sounds like whatever ceremony they’re doing isn’t working. They’ve tried three times now and…” 

He trailed off as a thought occurred to him. Zagreus wasn’t sure what qualified someone to become an Oracle of Delphi. But, what if, rather than lacking a candidate, Lord Apollo was _punishing_ the Temple for losing his Oracle by withholding his blessing? 

_Like Lady Demeter after Persephone was lost._

Iapyx’s mother had clearly heard enough. She scoffed, putting her hands on her hips. “I know the folks at the Temple like their secrets, but this is unacceptable. Chalking it all up to bad omens and sending all these honest folks like you on a wild goose chase. That’s no way to run our sacred precinct. We have to inform the council of neighbors—” 

As she started listing names and formulating plans, Zagreus glanced over at Iapyx and saw that, unlike his mother, he had gone quiet. Deep in thought, the doctor’s eyes went past Zagreus, to the tent flap where sunlight filtered in.

“He hasn’t picked the next Oracle yet?” Zagreus heard him murmur to himself, in a daze. 

The question made Zagreus tilt his head in confusion. “You’re referring to Lord Apollo? I suppose not. Actually, I was just thinking, do you think he’s, well, withholding his blessings on purpose? Because I thought about Lady Demeter and...”

_And gods seem to go missing right when you need them the most._

Those blasphemous words, though, Zagreus swallowed back. For good measure, he made a little apologetic ward against evil to the sky. 

The doctor blinked and looked up at Zagreus as if noticing him there for the first time. “On purpose? To punish the Temple?” he repeated. 

Zagreus nodded. Iapyx sucked in a sharp breath, pressing one shaking hand to his furrowed brow and mulling over Zagreus' words. In the fading sunlight, the golden ring on his pinkie glinted. 

“I… think you’re right, Zagreus,” he said finally, after several moments of deliberation. 

Taken aback, Zagreus exclaimed, “I am?”

“Yes, you’re right,” Iapyx’s voice started to gain strength as he spoke. Something in his face had cleared, sweeping away the pallor from earlier. “He’s not training another Oracle on purpose. But he would never do that, unless...” Iapyx trailed off, a faraway look settling over his eyes. As if in a trance, he started to bustle around the tent, gathering his bag and his hat. 

Zagreus trailed after him, confused. He didn’t understand the change in the doctor’s demeanor. If anything, the confirmation of his hunch made the stone in his stomach sink deeper. Warily, he said, “Unless what? If Apollo isn’t blessing his own temple, isn’t that really bad? There might never be another Oracle in that case.” 

Instead of responding to Zagreus' questions, Iapyx donned his hat and tossed his bag over his shoulder. He went to plant an absentminded farewell to his mother’s cheek, who paused from her planning to look at him in alarm.

“What? Where are you going? We have to gather the council members in the _agora_ and start a meeting.”

“Hold off on the meeting for now. I’m going to check something first,” Iapyx said firmly. Then he turned to address Zagreus. “Take my mother home and go get some rest. I'll be back soon."

Zagreus gaped at him. “Wha— wait a minute, what do you mean you’re going to check something? Is this about the Oracle?”

His mother’s frown deepened, but Iapyx ignored the two of them. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry about it,” he promised. Then, whisking out of his tent, he left without another word. 

At his departure, Iapyx’s mother let out a groan that could shake the foundations of the tent posts. “Not again.”

That startled Zagreus out of his bewilderment and he turned on her. “What do you mean, not again? What’s going on?”

Iapyx’s mother didn’t answer him at first. She started to tidy up her son’s workbench, putting the half-ground herbs away and cleaning up the tools that the doctor had left scattered about. Rocking on his heels in impatience, Zagreus waited, torn between running after Iapyx and not wanting to disregard the doctor’s request. 

After several moments of tense silence, Iapyx’s mother finally spoke up. “The Oracle and my son go back a long time. He feels… indebted to her, for helping him realize his life purpose, I think, so he’s always gone out of his way for her sake. Sometimes… to his detriment.”

“Should… should I go after him?” Zagreus ventured tentatively. “I could… watch over him— wait, not to sound like Iapyx can’t take care of himself. He’s far more capable than I’ll ever be, but…”

Iapyx’s mother lifted her head and gave him such a warm and amused gaze that the rest of his words died in his throat. “Don’t be so self-deprecating, dear. My fool son might be a fully-grown adult, but that doesn’t mean he should go it alone all the time. I think he could use the help. Besides, I know you’re just as tangled up in this as he is.”

“Do you still need an escort home?” Zagreus replied, trying not to let the warmth bubbling in his chest spill overmuch onto his face. 

That made her burst into laughter. “Don’t listen to him! He was being ridiculous. I’m not so old and senile that I need someone to walk me around my own town.” She paused and then pointed a stern finger at Zagreus. “I’m going to call the council together first thing in the morning, so if Clymene isn’t found by then, the Temple is going to have to answer to all of us. So stop lollygagging and get to it!” 

Zagreus snapped straight and nodded. “Will do. And thank you, ma’am.” 

Then, ducking under the tent flap, he took off after the doctor. 

It was child’s play to pick out Iapyx’s distinct black braid and wide-brimmed _petasos_ amidst the thin crowds in the _agora_ and follow him to the foothills of Mount Parnassus. The doctor was so focused on his destination that he didn’t even notice Zagreus trailing a hundred meters behind him. As the doctor went past the start of the sanctuary’s processional road and took a sharp turn around a large outcropping of rock, Zagreus realized where he was headed. 

There, embedded in the side of the mountain, was a house. 

Or rather, it was the façade of a house, with faded blue shutters and stone walls piled up to fill the mouth of a cavern. The craggy walls of Mount Parnassus made up its ceiling and sidewalls, nestling the structure within its cliffs. The house even had a little sloped yard that was encircled by a low wall and filled with painted earthenware jars of all sizes. 

Zagreus had never noticed this house here, despite all the times he had come down from the sanctuary, for it stood out of sight from the main road and was tucked behind several large fir trees. This, along with the healthy coating of moss, made it blend into the mountain as another pile of rocks. As he gawked up at the house from the bottom of the hill, Iapyx rapidly ascended the mossy flagstones to the door. 

The doctor knocked on the door several times in quick succession, to no reply. He glanced to the side and, even from a distance, Zagreus could see some of the wariness in Iapyx's shoulders melt away. Reaching into his bag, the doctor produced a key and unlocked the door. As he slipped into the house, Zagreus picked up his pace and started up the stone steps, eager to follow him. He had just reached for the doorknob when a horrible hissing noise rose up behind him. 

There, in the yard, hidden in the shadow of a human-sized earthenware jar, was the largest swan Zagreus had ever seen. Enormous and white, its chest bristled with muscle and its wingspan was longer than Zagreus was tall. 

It did not look happy to see him.

“Hi there,” Zagreus addressed the giant bird cautiously. “I’m just… going on in. Don’t mind me.”

The swan, apparently, did mind. Its beady eye glared up at him as it reared up on its legs and slapped Zagreus' legs several times with its flapping wings. With the speed of an arrow, its long majestic head snaked forward and nipped him hard at his shins. 

“Ouch, whoa, whoa, easy there,” Zagreus yelped as he scrambled backwards. The swan opened its beak to hiss at him again before lunging forward. It seemed intent on continuing its attack, even when Zagreus tried to put distance between them. “Ow, ow, what’s with you? Stay back!” 

The sharp pecks of its beak left red welts on his skin and, whenever it reared up, wings buffeting Zagreus, it extended its long neck to try and peck at his eyes. He tried to intimidate it back, by stomping his feet and growling at it, but these attempts only seemed to enrage the swan more and it bit his finger hard for the insult. 

“ _Ffffff_ — that hurt!” 

In a flurry of white feathers, the swan chased him all the way out of the yard. Only then did the attacks relent, as it stood by the low wall, making deep, guttural noises in its throat. 

“You horrid animal,” Zagreus said, glaring at the waterfowl. “Someone ought to pluck you.” 

The swan made several snorting noises. It jerked its head threateningly at him before waddling back to the house.

Zagreus dragged a hand down his face and looked down at the painful red marks left on his legs. It was just his luck that the world’s worst swan had decided he was some sort of territorial threat. His eyes landed on the door, where the swan had decided to curl up in front of, like some horrible avian guard dog. 

_Well, if I can’t get through the door…_

Zagreus' eyes landed on the window on the second story of the house. If he used one of human-sized clay _pithos_ and the rocky face of the mountain, he could get himself up just high enough to reach the window ledge. 

The tricky part would be to avoid getting the swan’s attention.

Zagreus started to edge around the yard’s wall to the far side, crouching slightly behind the rows of jars _._ “I swear, it’s like someone started a winery here,” he muttered. He had never seen so many _pithoi_ in the same place, not with such a poor harvest for the last several years. He leaned against the vessel’s sturdy body, to check if it could support his weight. They were packed so tightly together around the yard that he hoped it’d prevent them from tipping, despite their narrow bases. “Should work,” he murmured to himself. 

As quietly as he could, he clambered up over the yard wall and onto the covered wooden lids of the _pithoi._ Then, edging to the wall of the house, he dug his foot half into the craggy side of the mountain and half against the stones of the house. There wasn’t much space for his toes, but he could at least support his weight. He had done similar stunts as a child, climbing the roofs of Philomenus’ home or sneaking out through his bedroom window, but never dangling from the side of a mountain. 

Still, Zagreus was nothing, if not determined. 

Inch by inch, he crawled up the side of the house, until he could get both hands on the window ledge. The outer wooden shutters had been left ajar and he pried them open as best as he could. They hit the wall with a thunk and almost bounced back to smack Zagreus in the head. 

Below him, a terrible hiss made Zagreus' heart leap up into his throat. He dared a look below, and saw the swan take flight, straight for him. 

_Gods damn it!_

With an almighty push, he shoved himself up through the window, banging through the half-open wooden shutters. The angle was awkward though, and he ended up landing painfully on his belly against the windowsill, coughing miserably in the cloud of wood splinters and dust he had kicked up. His legs still hung out of the window, flailing wildly. He could feel the swan’s wings brush past them and, in a panic, he kicked harder in order to ward the bird off. The swan let out several angry, trumpeting calls, and then pain exploded up his calf as a ferocious beak dug into his skin.

“Shit, shit, shit—” he swore as he felt blood trickle down his leg. Adrenaline kicked in and, with a second push, he managed to thrust the rest of his body through the window and tumble inside with a thud, landing in a heap onto wooden floorboards.

Despite the aches all across his body, the renewed smarting of his ribs, and the blood wetting his leg, it was no time to rest. He sprung up and, there the swan was, ready to dive through the window itself, its twisting, white wings thrashing mid-air, murder clear in its beady little eyes. Desperate, he seized the interior shutters and slammed them close. Then he braced his weight against the wood and waited. 

Moments later, the swan threw its full weight against the shutters and the impact rattled through Zagreus' shoulders. Noises of scratching and pecking started up on the other side of the wood, reverberating into his ears. Zagreus stayed there, his weight buttressed against the shutters, praying they would hold. 

Finally, after several long minutes of angry swan noises, Zagreus heard the bird take flight again with a low whoosh of air. Wincing, he slumped away from the window with a sigh of relief. 

“I hate that bird,” he muttered to himself as he examined the chunk of flesh it had torn off his leg. The wound wasn’t too deep, but blood still dribbled unpleasantly down to his ankle. Not to mention his legs still bore a dozen other welts left by the swan’s beak. Hoping to find something to wipe away the blood, he straightened up to examine the room he had landed in. 

He had landed on a constructed wooden landing that formed a type of loft. The walls of this house, as he expected, were made of rough rock, and the high and uneven stone ceiling had been braced with a latticework of wood. Some of the stone walls had been plastered over to create an illusion of smoothness, but, to Zagreus, it remained unmistakably the inside of a cavern. The loft contained a bed and a wardrobe and overlooked the ground floor. There was a ladder leaning against the railing of the landing, and, in the dim light peeking through the shutters, he could make out the shapes of couches, tables, and rugs down below.

Iapyx, however, was nowhere to be seen. 

In fact, the house seemed utterly abandoned. A fine layer of dust had fallen all over the bed, which still had its heavy winter coverlets. When he descended the ladder to the ground floor, he noticed how cobwebs coated the couches and tables. Someone had left a pile of filthy dishes in the kitchen’s washing basin and debris littered the ground, from broken pottery shards to clumps of dried grass and dirt. There was a wooden desk in the corner littered with scrolls and a spilled inkwell had stained both the scrolls and the wood a deep night-purple.

Zagreus shivered as he took in the derelict state of the house. For some reason, the cavern walls looming over him made his body tense and his heart pick up speed. His eyes kept glancing into the shadows as if he expected something to burst out of them at any minute, despite how still the house was.

“What’s wrong with you?” he muttered to himself, trying to shake himself free of the fear. After all, he was ensconced within the mountain's stone walls, where not even the faintest breath of wind could penetrate. Yet, the feeling stayed, insidious in his heart. He didn’t understand its source; he never had an issue with crawling into Philomenus’ dirt cellar, nor with walking through the pitch-black forest at night. No, it was only this cavern that had been dressed up as a home that unnerved him.

It felt as if he was scared of being enclosed by the stone itself. 

In an attempt to beat back the feeling, he started to circle the room slowly and check all the shadowed corners. On one such turn, he noticed the doctor’s footsteps in the dust and followed them. They led past the messy desk, to a thick wooden door inset into the floor. When he touched the iron handle affixed to the door, he found it free of dust. 

Iapyx must have gone into the cellar. _But why?_

With a heave, Zagreus yanked the door up, and a rush of sickly sweet air burst out from underground. The cloying scent reminded him of the incense they burned at the Temple. Dust swirled and papers flew off the desk. One of the papers threatened to drop down into the darkness below and, coughing, Zagreus made a wild grab for it. He just barely managed to get his fingers around the sheet and pull it back. As he leaned over the opened hatch, he felt warm air puff against his face. 

That wasn’t the still, dead air of a cellar down there. What he had thought was the cellar, he realized as he peered closer, was actually a tunnel that appeared to lead deep into the mountainside. 

Backing away from the hatch, Zagreus frowned. “What secrets are you keeping, doctor?” 

He had already had his suspicions this was no ordinary house. Inset in a cavern, protected by a strange swan, and concealing a mysterious tunnel, Zagreus wondered if he had accidentally trespassed somewhere a bit more important than a public council house. 

Still, he had come this far. He was about to jump into the hatch, when he looked down at the scroll still clutched in his fingers. _If I am trespassing, let me not be a thief as well,_ Zagreus thought with a grimace. Backing away from the tunnel entrance, he stooped to pick up the scattered papers and went to place them back among the scrolls on the desk. 

The desk was a disaster in and of itself. Ink had been splashed everywhere and numerous broken reeds littered the surface. Zagreus couldn’t help but peek at the contents of the papers and found them filled to the brim with a wild scrawl. The heavyset letters were tiny and numerous as if the writer was attempting to cram as many words on the page as possible. In comparison to the neat prophecy scrolls in the _bouleuterion_ he had seen this morning, these papers looked like the work of a madman. 

Then, his eyes skated over a name that made his blood run cold. He seized the offending parchment off the desk and held it up to the light, to read from the beginning. Large splotches of ink obscured enormous sections of the page, leaving the words fragmented and hard to make out. 

_'Dishonor from... a winding path through your black blood...._

_...all is poisoned, all is desolation.'_

With a start, Zagreus realized what he held in his hands was a prophecy. Even in their marred state, he could feel the words radiating with the same mesmerizing power that the prophecies in the _bouleuterion_ had. There even was a date crammed at the edge of the parchment, dating the record to five weeks ago, before the start of spring. 

“That’s before Clymene went missing,” he muttered to himself, stunned. Looking around the house, he was hit with a sudden and certain realization. “This… this is her house, isn’t it?” 

The still and silent house offered no response, but the wavering shadows from the fading light made him shiver. His eyes jumped back to the top of the sheet, wondering _who_ Clymene had given this prophecy to, but the edges of the page had been soaked in ink. If there once was a supplicant’s name on this piece of parchment, it had been lost in the pool of night-purple ink. All he could do was read on, trying to pick out the other visible letters.

_‘Seawater will rot even the most famed of ships…_

_…of Oxyntes, claim no glories and you will heap no stones…_

_…you that demands a thousand-year-old debt!’_

There it was, in the middle of the page, carved in unchanging ink, the damning name Zagreus had seen. His hands started to shake as his mind flew back to a month ago, in the _agora,_ when a skull-faced Fury had breached through the earth and dragged a fleeing murderer to the bowels of the Underworld. 

A murderer by the name of Oxyntes.

Zagreus hadn’t stopped to think. He had seized the scroll off the table and leapt down into the tunnel. Taking off at a flat dash, despite his dim surroundings, he had charged up the passageway, towards the far-off exit emitting a pale grey light. 

As he ran, his battered legs felt light, but his head felt heavy with questions. 

_Why was there a prophecy mentioning Oxyntes’ name in the Oracle of Delphi’s house? Why was it dated right before she went missing? Who is this prophecy for? Did it have anything to do with her disappearance? The woman he murdered… it couldn’t be..._

And the words of the prophecy! He might have only been able to read fragments, but the words themselves oozed with misery and malice. The scroll in his hand felt like a curse, more than insight into the future. 

If Zagreus had received a prophecy like this, he was sure it would have plunged him into despair. 

His heart thudded fast and strong in his chest and his footing remained sure on the slick stones. He was almost at the exit now, and he could hear a strange, breathless wail echo from the mouth of the tunnel. It was punctuated by a keening noise so miserable that it made the hairs on the back of Zagreus' neck rise.

Someone was weeping.

Picking up speed, he burst out of the tunnel entrance, into sunlight. 

Briefly blinded and disoriented, Zagreus skidded to a stop, pebbles skittering under his sandals. As his eyes adjusted, he realized he had emerged in a grove, inside the heart of the mountain, where the cliffs broke away above his head to reveal a sliver of sky. A single laurel tree had taken root in the rocky soil, straining up to the rays of sunlight above. By the tree’s roots, a spring burbled out from the cliff walls into a pool of sparkling and clear water. 

And at the water’s edge was Iapyx, sunken onto his knees, trembling. His hat had fallen to one side and his bag to another, herbs and medicines spilling out all over the rocky ground. Discarded jars surrounded the doctor, empty of their wine. Just as Zagreus was about to call out to him, he noticed a pair of strong, dark hands clutching the back of the doctor’s _chiton_ and his words died in his throat.

There was a strange man in Iapyx’s arms and it was he, whose flame-colored locks spilled like wine across Iapyx’s shoulders, who was the source of the weeping.

“—no, damn you, son of Iasus! Anything you asked of me, I would do, but not that!” the stranger sobbed as his voice rose in a frenzied lilt, echoing around the grove. He was wrapped so tight in Iapyx’s embrace that Zagreus could not tell where one man began and the other ended. “Will no one allow for my mourning? My grief? She was the talent of a century. There will never be another like her. And you ask me to simply seek another?”

“No, I would never wish for you to forget her. But you know that is not what I ask for,” Iapyx murmured, barely audible over the sobs of his companion. His own breathing had turned ragged as he curled protectively over the man’s shaking shoulders. Zagreus could not see his expression, for his face was in shadow, but the doctor’s braid had come undone, leaving straggling black tresses down his back. “They need you.” 

“They need me? They needed _her_ and yet, their negligence has lost her to me before her time!” the weeping man raged, before burying his face into the doctor’s chest. His next words came out muffled, but his inconsolable fury was clear enough. “I should have cast them all out onto this barren earth, friendless and lonesome. You cannot make me return to that Temple, not until she has been returned to me and they have paid their penance!” 

Lacking words, Iapyx instead pressed his mouth to the crown of his companion’s head, as if to soothe the anger and grief simmering off his skin. 

Zagreus quickly averted his eyes as heat rushed up his face. He could hear how the blood pounded in his ears, not from his earlier dash, but from the intimacy of the two men in front of him. _'What are you, some voyeur?’_ Theoclea’s taunting voice rose up in the back of his head and he forcibly suppressed it, lest the embarrassment paralyze him. 

As he started to back away, however, he stepped on one of the discarded wine jars and it shattered under his foot. The sound reverberated around the grove and Zagreus flinched, as Iapyx jerked his head up in surprise.

“Zagreus? Is that you? Wh-what are you doing here?” Iapyx stared at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. He had caught Iapyx utterly off-guard and the raw and vulnerable expression on his face made Zagreus flush with panic. 

“I… I followed you. Iapyx sir, I’m… I’m sorry to intrude,” Zagreus stammered, coming into the light. His eyes darted to the shuddering man in Iapyx’s arms, but the doctor quickly turned his shoulder to shield him from Zagreus' gaze. “Your mother said… well, no, I was the one who thought to follow you.” 

“My mother?” Iapyx let out a disbelieving huff. Frazzled, he tried to detangle himself from his companion, in order to stand. However, his companion only tightened his grip, as his sobs quieted to harsh breathing. “My love, wait a moment. Zagreus… you should leave—” 

“Cygnus let you in?” Iapyx’s companion croaked in a hoarse voice as he lifted his head just enough to affix one red-rimmed eye at the dusty and bruised youth in front of him. At the sight of his face, Zagreus choked. 

The man in Iapyx’s arms was the most unearthly beautiful man Zagreus had ever seen. Somehow, the many tears he had shed did not mar the loveliness of his features. Despite how disheveled his hair was, it still fell in lush locks over his high cheekbones, framing a pair of full lips. While he looked not much older than Zagreus himself, still clean-shaven, his limpid, golden eyes made holding eye contact near impossible and Zagreus had to drop his gaze, palms sweaty.

“The… the swan? Uh, not exactly,” he managed to stammer after his brain kicked back into motion. He rallied to get his next words out. “I snuck in. I really am sorry. I’ll leave at once. But, before I go, Iapyx sir, I found this. This is… a prophecy of Clymene’s, isn’t it? One of her last ones before she went missing. I think it’s important.”

He extended the ink-stained scroll. 

It was Iapyx’s companion who reached out with one elegant hand and seized the parchment hungrily from Zagreus. Pushing himself up with wine-languid limbs and untangling himself from Iapyx, he tossed back a curtain of flame-red hair and ripped the scroll open to skim its contents. 

“Where did you find this?” Iapyx asked, surprised. 

“I just saw it on her desk. I saw a name that I recognized and—” 

Before Zagreus could finish his explanation, Iapyx’s companion staggered up to his feet. He wore little, just the barest scrap of gauzy cloth hanging off his hips, and Zagreus half-expected it to pool down around his bare legs. Looking concerned, Iapyx rose as well, but the strange man waved the doctor off. Swaying slightly, he extended the hand holding the parchment. Then, he crushed the scroll in his fist and it erupted into flames.

“H-hey, what the hell?” Zagreus exclaimed, as he flinched at the flare of heat. 

The rest of Zagreus' words died in his throat, however, when he saw letters, like gleaming embers, float in the air before the man. Gone was the sodden mess of a lover from earlier. Instead, he stared at the letters with intense scrutiny, a dark and angry expression on his face. 

“This… is not one of mine,” he murmured. The edge of his voice hung like a knife in the air. Zagreus felt his throat dry up and his heart crawled up unpleasantly in his throat, although he didn’t understand the man’s words. 

Iapyx seemed to, though, blanching. “Wait, how could it be not one of yours? Unless...” 

The letters arranged and rearranged themselves in the air, shifting into combinations faster than Zagreus could read them. With every permutation, the stranger’s scowl deepened. Then, with an abrupt wave of his hand, all the letters dissolved into ash. 

“These words are Clymene’s, but the message is not from me,” he said. Then, with one strong, elegant hand, he reached out and seized Zagreus by the chin.

Zagreus flinched as the stranger’s fingers pressed hot against his skin and his jaw was forced up. As his wide green eyes met those blazing, golden ones, his knees nearly buckled and sweat began to rise up his back. He had felt this kind of presence once before.

_It can’t be... He couldn’t be... like Thanatos?_

“How did you know it was a prophecy? Who are you?” the god demanded and his melodious voice throbbed like a hundred lyres around the grove. Zagreus cringed as his skull reverberated with its echo. He could smell the scent of stale wine upon the god’s breath as he spat in Zagreus' face. “Who would dare speak through _my_ Oracle when I was absent from my Temple?”

_No, he’s nothing like Thanatos!_

Pressure bore down on Zagreus until his lungs ached for breath, oppressive and smothering. Light had begun to emanate from the god’s face, burning Zagreus' retinas, until he had to shut his eyes. 

“I don’t know who this prophecy is from. But I knew it was a prophecy because I had seen others like it! The man it speaks of, Oxyntes, means something to me,” Zagreus gasped, despite his numb jaw and burning skin. “I saw him killed by the Furies a month ago, for murdering someone. A woman. But we never found out who! I thought, since the Oracle disappeared, that he...”

The god froze, as he took in Zagreus' words. Then he howled, apoplectic with rage.

“Do not lie to me! She is not dead!” 

The light bled white-hot through his eyelids, turning from pink to orange. Each one of those fingers gripping his chin dug like white-hot winches into his jaw. He could feel the skin on his face blister with the heat and his lips cracked as he tried to open his mouth.

“Apollo, stop this, please! He doesn’t know anything more than we do. He meant no harm!” 

It was Iapyx’s desperate and pleading voice that cut through the haze. The light receded back from behind Zagreus' eyelids and the heat faded. When he cracked his eyelids open, the god’s beautiful face still loomed over him, but something had broken in his expression. 

Then, with a wail of fury, Apollo, the Olympic god of medicine, prophecy, music, and the Sun itself, threw Zagreus to the ground and turned to Iapyx. 

“She’s not dead. Hermes told me himself. She’s just lost, she’s not… Not before her time,” he whimpered as tears began to spill down his cheeks once again. “...But is this why I cannot find her? Is it because she betrayed me and she’s hiding from me? I, who loved her above all others? I taught her everything she could have wanted. I told her she would be the finest Oracle of this land. Was it not enough?” 

Iapyx hesitated, seeing Apollo’s crumpled expression. Then, he came forward and clasped his lover’s dark hands. “I know Clymene. She loved you above all others, as well. I’m sure there is an explanation, my lord,” he murmured quietly.

Then, fearlessly, Iapyx reached up and pulled Apollo’s shuddering form into his arms. The god went willingly, bending forward like the trunk of a great, old laurel, until his quivering arms had wrapped around the doctor’s smaller frame. 

From where he had collapsed on the ground, Zagreus watched the two of them fold into each other and he could feel, beneath his shaking legs, how the mountain trembled with the force of the god’s weeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:
> 
> [1] Pithoi (singular: pithos) are large earthenware jars the Ancient Greeks used to store their grain, wine, or olive oil. These jars often stood taller than a human and required cranes and ropes in order to be transported. The largest pithoi were often sunk into the earth permanently and used as a type of larder in large palace complexes, such as in the Palace of Knossos in Minoan Crete. The term ‘pithos’ has expanded in common vernacular to include other smaller ceramic jars as well. For example, Pandora was given a pithos by Zeus as a wedding-gift that was said to contain all the world's evils— this pithos later became more widely known as Pandora's Box. 
> 
> [2] Swans are one of Apollo’s sacred animals and are said to pull his chariot from Delos, his birthplace, to Hyperborea, the land of ever-shining sun to the north. They are some of the largest flying birds in the world with wingspans that can stretch over ten feet. Males can weigh up to 30 pounds and grow up to five feet in length. They mate for life and are fiercely territorial and aggressive when it comes to the defense of their nests. [🦢](https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Mute_Swan/sounds)
> 
> [3] The God Apollo was born of the Titan Leto on the floating island of Delos and is the younger twin brother of Artemis. Widely worshipped and beloved, he epitomizes the classical beautiful youth and is the master of prophecy, healing, plague, music, the arts, archery, and occasionally the Sun. As one of the most complex and multifaceted gods, his presence in Ancient Greek mythos is vast, from his numerous lovers, requited and doomed alike, to his many champions and children.


	11. The Light-Bringer and the Doctor

“Here, this should help with the burns,” Iapyx said as he dipped a handkerchief into the spring, wrung it out, and handed it to Zagreus. “These waters come from the Castalian Spring and they have purifying and healing properties. Some say these waters can even undo any curse, though, that sounds like an exaggeration to me.”

From where he lay against the tree, limbs sprawled out, one hand clutching his head, Apollo grumbled, “Not an exaggeration.” 

Iapyx shot him a fond, albeit exasperated look. 

After several long bouts of horrible weeping, it seemed the god had finally exhausted himself. Now Apollo was quiet, nestled against the roots of his great laurel tree, expression wan and brow furrowed. The rage had seeped out of him; although he hadn’t apologized for nearly searing off Zagreus' face, he also didn’t seem likely to try again. 

“I’m really sorry, Zagreus, that you got mixed up in this,” Iapyx had started to apologize, in his lover’s stead, but Zagreus shook his head.

“I got myself mixed up into this. It’s not your fault,” he assured the doctor, and then winced as his cracked lips started to bleed again. He quickly slapped the sopping handkerchief onto his blistered face and sighed with relief. 

He could tell the doctor still felt troubled, but Zagreus wasn’t just being polite. He knew he had barged in where he hadn’t been wanted, so he would have to bear the consequences without complaint. Not to mention, Philomenus didn’t raise him a fool. Holding a grudge against an Olympian for something like this was pointless, not when he knew they were capable of far worse punishments. After all, no matter how much his inflamed skin hurt, he still needed Apollo’s help. All of Delphi did. 

Now if only they could convince the Olympian to give them any. 

His eyes slid over to where Apollo reclined against his tree, not paying attention to either of them. It was still strange to see him in the flesh, after spending seven fruitless days of praying to him. Unlike Thanatos’ reserved intensity, Apollo’s loud and bright presence tugged at Zagreus' attention incessantly, akin to the feeling of the sun’s glare peeking past the brim of his hat. 

_The gods really are so different from one another._

“So,” Zagreus began, raising his voice to carry across the grove. “The Oracle of Delphi is missing and Delphi’s patron god won’t return to his Temple until she’s found. The last prophecy she ever gave was about a dead murderer and it came from an unknown god. Is that about right?” 

Apollo did not stir, but Iapyx nodded. “We know that Clymene disappeared when Apollo was up north, in Hyperborea, but not much else. Thanks to the snow, no one apparently realized she had been missing until a week later.” 

“ _Negligent_ ,” Apollo hissed abruptly, before falling back into his sullen silence.

Zagreus wrinkled his nose at the god’s contribution, before breathing deep and forcing his irritation down. 

It wasn’t uncommon to hear of folks who went out wandering in snowstorms and, upon losing their way in the blinding white snow, ended up freezing to death. Such a thing had happened in their village to the son of the miller two years ago. They had only found his body in spring, after the thaw. It would be the most reasonable explanation if it wasn’t for the fact that Lord Hermes himself had apparently told Apollo that Clymene had not perished. So, there had to be something else.

“Where could a lone Oracle in the dead of winter have gone, then? Where have people looked so far?” Zagreus asked, looking expectantly in Apollo’s direction. “If she’s still alive, then she must have gotten shelter, food, _something_ in these last few weeks.”

Instead of responding to Zagreus, Apollo picked up an _oinochoe,_ this one still half-filled with wine, and started drinking again. Zagreus shot Iapyx a despairing glance and the doctor got the message. He plucked the wine pitcher out of Apollo’s hand and poured the wine out onto the ground. “I think you’ve had enough, love. We need you to sober up.”

Apollo blinked at his empty hand, taking a moment to surface from the daze he was in, before he frowned up at Iapyx, red-rimmed eyes downcast. “You’re so hard on me, sometimes.” 

Ignoring his pleas, Iapyx knelt by the spring and filled the _oinochoe_ with clear sparkling water. Pressing the pitcher into Apollo’s hands, he said in a firm, but kind voice, “Come now. I know how that prophecy shocked you, but we can’t discuss our next step without you.” 

_What would I do without you, Iapyx?_ Full of gratitude, Zagreus silently sent a prayer to lovely Leto, Apollo’s divine mother, to bless the doctor. _Also, if you could help us with your son, that would be much appreciated as well._

Said son of Leto pushed away the proffered pitcher of water petulantly. “Do you know how much effort it takes to get drunk when you’re a god? I had to drink through everything my drunken lout of a brother left behind in the Temple.”

That startled Zagreus out of his musings momentarily. “Your brother… You don’t mean Lord Dionysus? All this wine was… his? And you drank it all?” 

“He was so deep in his cups that he didn’t even notice my Clymene was gone. I thought I ought to teach him a lesson. See how it feels when something precious to him disappears when he’s away,” Apollo growled, before misery overtook his face again. “But even that barely filled the hole in my heart. Everything is falling to pieces around me. Old Helios wants to take a longer vacation. My Temple is a wreck, filled with gibbering fools. My Oracle is gone and betrayed our covenant. And now, you want me to be sober for this?”

Zagreus crossed his arms, trying hard to forget the exhaustion aching in his bones after a week of trudging up to Delphi, chasing the attention of the god now in front of him, and said, through gritted teeth, “Yes. Please, my lord.”

“Apollo…” Iapyx sighed, placing a hand on Apollo’s shoulder. “We cannot avoid these questions forever. I promise, there will be time afterwards to rest your heavy heart. I will sit with you for as long as you would like—”

“Oh, you say this now, but even you might leave me in this state,” Apollo muttered bitterly, shrugging the doctor’s hand off. “As soon as I can’t give you what you want… Just like everyone else.” 

“Oh, come off it!” 

The exclamation, full of incredulity, burst out of Zagreus, unbidden. As Apollo lifted his head to scowl at him, fear shot through his veins, but he swallowed hard to push past it. 

“You know the first thing Iapyx did when he heard about Clymene missing? He came running here to you because he was worried about you! Does that sound like a man who is going to just abandon you for no reason?” he declared, gesturing to Iapyx with a wide sweep of his arm. 

Iapyx turned pink. “Zagreus… there really is no need—”

Zagreus barreled on, not heeding the doctor’s plea. Frustrated words a week in the making poured from his mouth. “You know, I met two of your priestesses at the Temple. They’ve been working hard every day in hopes of being selected as your next Oracle. Do you think those girls would abandon you? Hell, the entire Temple hushed up Clymene’s disappearance to keep up appearances. I don’t agree with their methods, but wasn’t everything for the sake of _your_ reputation?” 

Every inch of his body ached. His face had blistered, his ankle had bled, his ribs twinged each time he inhaled too deeply, and his legs had been battered by Apollo’s feral swan. Yet Zagreus drew strength in his aggravation, throwing his arms out wide to beseech the unhappy god.

“Besides, who cares about whether or not your Oracle ‘betrayed’ you? She’s alive, isn’t she? Let’s just go find her and ask her directly!” 

“Apollo, Zagreus…” Iapyx said, warningly, eyes darting between them.

Apollo gave him an incredibly sour look, as anger washed away the miserable, wine-sodden expression he wore before. “Do you think I have not scoured the earth from the heavens already to look for her and failed? Had I found her, we would not be having this conversation.” 

In a fit of reckless pique, a product of the madness he found himself under, Zagreus shot back, “So you’re telling me you looked all across the earth, but you didn’t see the last prophecy she gave sitting on her desk?”

Rage crossed the god’s face and Apollo straightened up in this seat, his grip tense on the roots of his tree. In a low voice, the god hissed, “You’re trying to provoke me. Did you not already get a taste of my power earlier? That is a very dangerous thing to do, little one.”

“I’m trying to help you open your eyes, sir,” Zagreus insisted, trying to ignore the fear that spiked in his pounding heart. _Don’t let him intimidate you. Not over this. He’s your one chance. You have to go for it._ Still, he braced himself, half-ready to dive into the spring in case the god started to glow again. “I want to know what happened to Clymene. Don’t you want to hear about Oxyntes? Like Iapyx said, we need your help. Everyone at the Temple needs your help. This all hinges on you, Lord Apollo, sir.”

Apollo’s eyes narrowed at Zagreus' words. For several long seconds, god and mortal stared at each other and Zagreus did his damnedest to not cringe back from the intensity of Apollo’s scrutiny. 

It was Iapyx who broke the standstill. He laid a hand on his lover’s shoulder and Apollo turned to stare up at him. In a soft voice, he said, “You told me once, there are times when we may feel that we can do nothing to save a patient’s life. But it is still our duty, as doctors, to always try. That we should never assume we understand the Fates’ designs for an individual and that the best we can do is our absolute, utmost effort. Did you not?”

“...You remembered all that?” Apollo murmured, his anger giving way to surprise on his face. 

“Of course, did you think I would forget and disappoint my teacher?” Iapyx said, with a slight teasing edge. Offering Apollo a small smile, he extended the _oinochoe_ filled with water a second time. “Zagreus is right. Let us at least try, before we let our grief overwhelm us.”

Apollo’s hands trembled as they took the _oinochoe,_ and he stared down at the water from his sacred spring. “This is all my fault, for getting so attached to you mortals in the first place,” he murmured before sighing. “Still, it seems, even now, I can’t help myself. Aphrodite truly has it out for me, these days.”

Then, in one fluid motion, he emptied the pitcher over his head, letting water slosh down his flame-red locks and drip onto the earth. 

Startled, Zagreus flinched, but when he looked closer, he realized the water sluiced off the god without soaking into his body or dampening the scrap of cloth around his hips. Apollo tossed his hair over his shoulder and, upon seeing Zagreus' shock, groused, “I told you already, the waters from the Castalian Spring can purify you of any curse.”

_Drunkenness counts as a curse?_

With languid ease, Apollo crossed his legs and leaned one elbow against the roots as if the laurel tree was a throne built especially for him. A grace had returned to the god’s movements and a dangerous sharpness to his gaze. If Zagreus had thought the handsome god was intimidating before, that was nothing on how he appeared now.

_Remember what you promised Thanatos. You gave your life to this service. Don’t be afraid._

That made Zagreus straighten his own back, swallowing hard. For some reason, remembering his pact to the god of Death helped steady his own breathing and he managed not to flinch when Apollo snapped his fingers and pointed at Zagreus.

“You wished to talk, fine. Tell me, little one, what you know of this Oxyntes.” 

Within that grove, under the waning sunlight, Zagreus recounted the story of the taciturn Fury in the _agora_ and the beggar that turned out to be a fleeing murderer to Apollo. The god’s mouth twitched at the mention of how Callisto, one of his divine sister’s former Hunters, had pinned down Oxyntes, but he didn’t comment otherwise. When Zagreus got to Oxyntes’ confession on how he accidentally murdered an unknown woman, his expression tightened and his fingers dug into the roots of his tree. Zagreus spared no detail, except for the moment when the Fury had recognized him. That felt like a dangerous thing to bring up when the Olympian already eyed him with an air of distrust. 

_Better not risk it._

After he completed the grim story, Apollo steepled his fingers and bent forward on his knees, clearly thinking. “And this all happened at the end of winter? In Boeotia, around Mount Helicon?” 

Zagreus nodded. “It must have been around four or so weeks ago.”

“You never told me all this,” Iapyx spoke up, looking at Zagreus with newfound astonishment. “I knew the scar on your chest was recent, but I had no idea it was a wound from a Fury. I realize I’m just your doctor, but...” 

“Ah, I would have told you if I thought it was relevant. But it healed alright,” Zagreus said, sheepishly. “And… well, it sounds unbelievable, doesn’t it?”

“Not so much unbelievable as terrifying,” Iapyx muttered. “First a giant, now a Fury? What have you been getting yourself into?” 

Apollo reached up absentmindedly to pat Iapyx on the thigh. “You needn’t be scared of them, love. Those unpleasant sisters perform most of their foul work within the realm of that stiff old uncle of mine. For one of them to come to the surface, their services must have been called for by another god. Besides, I will always protect you.” 

Zagreus squirmed unpleasantly. _Good to know that her knowing my name is an even more terrifying prospect than I thought._ “Do you have any idea who sent the Fury after Oxyntes, Lord Apollo, sir?” 

“It could have been any of my kin, if this Oxyntes murdered a mortal they favored,” Apollo said, waving off the question. “My family’s appetite for revenge is legendary, after all. I wouldn’t be able to keep track of all that offends them even if I had the faintest desire to do such a thing. No, what bothers me is his inclusion in this prophecy.” 

That made Iapyx cross his arms and raise his eyebrows at Apollo. “Speaking of, I never actually got to see what was on this scroll, before you torched it. What exactly did it say?” 

To Zagreus' unexpected delight, the god flushed with embarrassment and awkwardly tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Ah… I did get carried away there. Here,” he said and waved his hand in the air. The flaming letters reconstructed themselves out of nothing once more, shimmering in the sunlight, and Zagreus hungrily drank them in again, committing every line to memory.

_'Dishonor from... a winding path through your black blood...._

_…all is poisoned, all is desolation._

_Seawater will rot even the most famed of ships…_

_…of Oxyntes, claim no glories and you will heap no stones…_

_…you that demands a thousand-year-old debt!’_

“It’s Clymene’s prophecy, that’s for sure. I’d recognize her style anywhere,” Apollo sighed, looking clearly torn between longing and displeasure as he ran his fingers across the burning letters. “There’s too much missing, though. It would take forever to cross-reference something as vague as this with my own visions. That is, if the Fates even would let me peer through the veil, to such an extent.”

“Even if you’re the god of prophecy?” Zagreus couldn’t help but ask. That made Apollo wrinkle his nose in irritation.

“Is a poet able to tell you every story that ever happened? Or a painter able to paint you every image that ever existed? You seem to understand very little about what the delicate art of prophecy is about, little one.” 

“My name is Zagreus,” he shot back. “Not little one.” 

Apollo rolled his eyes dismissively.

Iapyx interrupted, still peering at the words. “Apollo, the fact that she said ‘of Oxyntes’... Doesn’t that mean ‘something of Oxyntes’ rather than Oxyntes himself? And the ‘claim no glories and you will heap no stones’ part… it sounds like she was addressing someone. So, whoever she was speaking to must have known or been related to Oxyntes in some way. A friend, a brother, an enemy… something.” 

“I always knew you had the talent to be a great Oracle,” Apollo sighed as he looked affectionately up at Iapyx. “Not everyone can do it. Someone like the little one here would have never had the brains for it.”

“Ugh,” Zagreus grumbled under his breath before raising his voice, “So… Clymene’s last prophecy was to someone that knew Oxyntes?”

“Now you’re catching on. This Oxyntes of yours, do you know anything else about that man, hmm?” Apollo asked in a mock coy voice, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “Because I am simply dying to know who could convince my Clymene to give a prophecy in the dead of winter, right before her disappearance.” 

Apollo’s voice dipped down dangerously at the end and it made Zagreus swallow. He thought long and hard back to the bitter words that Oxyntes had spat in his face, on that bright spring day. “He never said exactly where he was from. But he did mention something… about Athens. That, if we called his name at the gates, they’d give us the money to fix the _agora._ I wondered about that, whether he had family or something there...”

He trailed off when Iapyx inhaled sharply, all of a sudden, and Apollo’s eyes flashed in his direction. “You realized something,” the god muttered in a low voice. 

Iapyx nodded, still looking thunderstruck, and stammered, “There were Athenians here over a month ago. A contingent of soldiers that came in the winter. They were turned away at the Temple, because the Temple never gives prophecies when you’re away, Apollo, but—”

“They must have gone straight to the Pythia herself! If Oxyntes was from Athens, maybe these were people who knew him and that’s why she brought his name up,” Zagreus exclaimed, catching on. 

“So, then, who were these men that convinced Clymene to prophesy for them? Iapyx, tell me their names,” Apollo demanded, rising to his feet. He waved his hand once again and the flaming letters of the prophecy dissolved. The grove grew cold, as if the sunlight had been sucked away from the air.

Iapyx looked ashen. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. There weren’t more than a dozen of them and they didn’t stay with us in town that night. They just came and went within a day, after the Temple turned them away. Though,” the doctor hesitated as another thought came to him. “There was one man that had a horse just like yours, Zagreus. But dappled.”

“Like Xanthos? How so?” Zagreus exclaimed, in surprise.

Apollo's eyes narrowed in his direction and he muttered the name, "Xanthos?", under his breath with an incredulous huff. 

Iapyx struggled to explain. "Well... I mean, you know what Xanthos is like. This horse wasn’t just large and majestic. When Iphianeira begged me to take her closer, I saw how she interacted with its rider and she was downright uncanny in its intelligence. Even amongst all the fine steeds those soldiers brought, that dapple mare was a cut above the rest. The only other horse I’ve ever seen that comes close to that kind of bearing and temperament is Xanthos.” 

Zagreus allowed himself a moment of preening pride, before realizing something. 

_A horse like the one Iapyx is describing can’t be that common. After all, Xanthos was once the mount of a prince. Which means..._

“Even in a city like Athens, there can’t be that many horses that match that description,” Zagreus began, as he could feel the excitement in his chest build. “If I visit the garrison with Xanthos, I’m sure to be able to find the owner of that dappled mare. They could tell me if they went to Delphi in the winter and then… we’d be sure to get a lead on this mysterious prophecy and Clymene’s whereabouts.”

Apollo arched an eyebrow and said coolly, “If _you_ visit the garrison in Athens?”

"That's right. I will go to Athens, my lord," Zagreus replied, staring boldly up into Apollo's narrowed eyes.

Silence fell over the grove at his declaration. Despite how every inch of his body, from his aching ribs to his smarting legs, trembled, Zagreus stood by his words. He had been building this plan in the back of his mind ever since he realized it was Apollo himself standing before him. Why settle for a prophecy, difficult to decipher and potentially despairing, when he could beseech the god of oracles himself? But then he had remembered Thanatos’ words.

_'A god cannot bargain with you without a price.’_

So here was Zagreus, coming up with a price. 

Iapyx cut in first, however, his voice wary and hesitant. "That's very generous of you, Zagreus. But don’t you have your own quest? You said you only had a year and a day to complete it. You don’t have to take this on as well—”

"My love. Let him speak for himself," Apollo interrupted as he regarded Zagreus impassively and Iapyx fell silent, expression troubled. The god waved one elegant and careless hand at Zagreus. "Little one. Choose your words carefully."

Zagreus straightened up and proceeded to lay out his plan with as much confidence as he could muster. "Lord Apollo sir, I came to Delphi as one of your supplicants to speak with your Oracle. Now that we have a lead, I wish to render you my service. I will journey to Athens, find the men who consulted with her this winter, discover her whereabouts, and deliver your Oracle back to you safely.”

“And you would do this out of the goodness of your heart? I think not. What exactly are you seeking as your reward?” Apollo asked, an unreadable expression on his face.

Fear and hope in turn warred inside him. Zagreus wet his lips, wincing at how dry and blistered they felt, before replying, “I have been charged with finding the lost Goddess of Verdure, Persephone. If I bring Clymene back to you, I would ask you to grant me your aid in my quest.”

That clearly hadn’t been what Apollo had been expecting. He looked taken aback, for a moment, before he collected himself and scoffed. “Persephone? That’s what you’re here for? That’s a fool’s mission, even with my aid.” 

Zagreus froze. “Are you saying... you can’t help me?” If Apollo himself could not help him, he wasn’t sure what recourse he had remaining. Panic began to curl its tendrils up his throat, but Apollo interrupted his train of thought, getting up from his perch and scowling down at him. 

“Don’t be absurd. Of course I could find Persephone, if I so desired it. Everything touched by the light of Helios’ chariot from the heavens is known to me. But you meddle in something you don’t understand," Apollo snapped as he started to circle around Zagreus, like a prowling wolf. Zagreus fought the urge to twist and turn to follow the god's paces, even as the hairs on the back of his neck rose in instinctual fear. “Besides, why should I entrust my Oracle to you? Are you a demigod or some other hero of renown? I doubt it, you reek of mortality and mediocrity. Tell me, why would you go so far for a lost goddess you have never known? Which of my empty-brained kin set you up on this?”

Zagreus tried to keep up with Apollo's rapid-fire questions, but he felt exposed and penned-in all at once. “I’m seeking Persephone to save my foster-father, Philomenus, and to repair the relationship between Lady Demeter and her children,” he answered shakily. The god's piercing glare from all sides made his skin feel feverish. Behind his back, Apollo made a derisive noise in his throat.

"You're not even their kin, yet you're trying to intercede on the behalf of Demeter's children? Who do you think you are, little one, involving yourself with the business of the gods? I tell you, for your own good, give up this fruitless endeavor."

Apollo's words sent a flash of hurt through him, stripping his nerves raw to the quick. "I... I might not be a child of Demeter, but that doesn't matter," he began, defiant and agitated. "On behalf of Philomenus and his children, I already pledged on my life to Thanatos that I would complete this quest—"

 _"Thanatos?_ That horrid son of Nyx’s?” Apollo interrupted, in disbelief. He stepped in front of Zagreus, took one look at his panicked face, and then burst into incredulous laughter. It boomed around the grove and made Zagreus cringe. Too late, he remembered Thanatos’ desire to keep mum on the subject.

Next to Apollo, Iapyx had turned pale. He hadn't known anything about Zagreus' patron.

“My little one, then you are already doomed, if you have sworn yourself to Death Incarnate!” Apollo gasped, as he wiped tears from his eyes and stepped back from Zagreus. “No wonder you’re desperate! What fool bargains with Death himself and hopes to emerge victorious?” 

Heat swelled in Zagreus' chest, along with a rising tide of defensiveness, causing him to lash out, “At least he gave me a chance! Maybe this quest is futile, but he didn’t stop me from trying. He could see how much this meant to me.” 

“Death does not understand _feelings_ or _sentiment_ ,” Apollo said, contemptuously. “You have deluded yourself. Do you know how many times I have watched him rob me of my lovers, my champions, with nary an expression on his wretched face? He would never consort with you mortals, unless you're already rotting in the earth, where his kind belongs.”

Zagreus thought back to the tense expressions Thanatos had worn, how conflicted he had looked as he listened to Zagreus' appeals, and found himself angrily stomping his foot upon the rocky earth. “No, I know what I saw. He’s not as you say he is. And if he was willing to give me a chance, what does that say about you, Lord Apollo sir?”

“Zagreus!” Iapyx whispered, sounding aghast.

Too late, Zagreus realized he had gone too far. The amusement faded from the god’s face and he rose up, floating a couple of inches off the ground, growing larger before Zagreus' eyes. He had the stature of a god now, and the wind rose as his power washed over the grove. When Apollo spoke again, the discordant plucking of lyres had returned, throbbing painfully into Zagreus’ skull. 

“Enough, you irritating little thing. Perhaps you were sent here by Thanatos to vex me. Let me show him what I think of his champion. You want my aid? You think you have what it takes to seek a lost goddess? Then prove it to me. You and every other mortal clamoring at my gates,” Apollo boomed, opening his arms and letting his hair billow about him. Light streamed from the skies above, far too bright for this late in the evening. 

Zagreus hesitated, shielding his eyes. “You mean—?”

“I’m giving you what you asked for,” Apollo said, sneering. “Every single mortal will get the same chance as you. Whoever brings me back Clymene will be rewarded with my blessing. I will announce the challenge tomorrow morning at the Temple. But only one mortal will receive my blessing. The others will be left with nothing. And if I find that Clymene perishes and she becomes lost to me forever, I will call down a plague on everyone who greedily took this chance and then dared to fail me. Will you accept the challenge?”

“Zagreus _, don’t_ —” Iapyx hissed, shielding his eyes and glancing over in dismay.

Ignoring the doctor, Zagreus nodded. The blood pounded so loud in his ears that he could barely hear his own words. 

“Clymene’s return for Persephone’s whereabouts. I accept.”

“Run along then. The wheels of the Fates will crush that hubris out of you soon enough, little one,” Apollo sniffed and the harsh sunlight dimmed. The god sank back to his feet, still larger-than-life, and the ugly expression on his face receded into placid arrogance. Turning to Iapyx, he cupped his lover’s cheek with one large hand and his expression softened. “I see things have gotten out of control without me. I heed your words, beloved, and will go put my Temple in order. Will you come to my ceremony tomorrow? If you wear that nice _chiton_ I got for you, I can show you off a little.”

Iapyx looked overwhelmed and flushed, and backed away. “Please, Apollo, you know how I feel about public events.”

Looking slightly hurt, Apollo murmured, “Well, as humble and darling as ever. I’ll see you afterwards then.” Then, in a bright flash that nearly blinded Zagreus, the god vanished and left a single golden laurel leaf floating in the air. 

Night fell all at once after the Sun God left their presence, and Zagreus and Iapyx exited Clymene’s house in the dark. Thankfully, the horrid swan seemed to have left with its patron, although Zagreus had peered warily around the corners of the house, just in case.

Iapyx was silent as they picked their way to the road by the light of the full moon and stars, and it made Zagreus' heart thrum unpleasantly in his chest. He had gotten what he wanted, a chance to prove himself to Apollo, yet his head still felt swollen with all that had happened in the grove and his thoughts buzzed incessantly in his head like a hundred restless bees. As the silence grew unbearable, he ended up blurting out the first thing that crossed his tongue.

“So, Apollo, huh? Was that who your mother disapproves of?”

The tension dissipated at once as Iapyx raised a hand to drag it down his face. “Ugh, please, let’s not talk about this in front of her.”

“I’m surprised she disapproves though. Isn’t it quite the honor to be noticed by a god?” Zagreus whistled. That made the doctor laugh, just a little, under his breath and so Zagreus added, “Especially here in Delphi. I would have done anything to be noticed back at home— wait, not that I have my eye on Apollo! I’m just saying!”

Luckily, Iapyx didn’t seem to mind his faux-pas. “It’s okay. With gods, you learn not to be jealous fast. I won’t be Apollo’s first lover and certainly won’t be his last.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Zagreus peered at him in the darkness, trying to catch any whiffs of platitudes. “I mean… no offense.”

“None taken. It’s not about the amount of time he spends with me, but the meaning of that time,” Iapyx said before sighing. “It’s true though. My mother isn’t pleased. She’d prefer for me to settle down and marry someone a little less… complicated. Especially since seeing Apollo doesn’t technically prevent me from doing that.”

“Really? He doesn’t seem the… sharing type,” Zagreus mused, thinking back to how the god had clung so desperately to his lover in the grove. “I always figured it was the other way around, you know. Gods cavorting with all their lovers. That sort of thing.”

That made Iapyx laugh. “You’d be surprised. Like any good relationship, it can go both ways. Apollo has even offered to matchmake for me before. I turned him down, though. I don’t have the appetite of a king, nor do I particularly have any interest in another partner.”

The quiet devotion in the doctor’s voice made Zagreus shiver, despite the lack of wind. “If you don’t mind, can I ask how the two of you met?” 

Iapyx raised his eyebrows at the unmistakable tone of eagerness in his young friend’s voice. Looking bemused, he replied, “It wasn’t that interesting. We met at one of the… unsanctioned parties up at the sanctuary. You know how the stories of gods and their mortal lovers go? That wasn’t my experience at all. Apollo didn’t sweep out of the sky to bed me in a field of flowers. Apparently, he could barely work up the courage to talk to me. It was Clymene who pulled us both aside that night, so he could talk to me.”

The image of a stuttering Apollo delighted Zagreus and he couldn’t restrain the wide grin that split across his face. “He was the shy one? The one I just met? Is that man even capable of being coy?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Infatuation makes men behave in strange ways, I suppose,” Iapyx said, looking fond. “He didn’t even greet me at first. He just sputtered out an offer to teach me anything from his domain. Prophecy, music, the arts of war, whatever you could think of. It was very grandiose.”

Zagreus wrinkled his brow, trying to imagine that. The blinding image he came up with made his retinas hurt, even in the dark.

“I was… well, I was flattered, but confused. I mean, you’ve seen me,” Iapyx said as he gestured at himself. “I couldn’t understand why a god would be drawn to me in the slightest. But he said I had the potential, and that was reason enough.”

“And you chose medicine. He was the one that taught you how to become a doctor,” Zagreus deduced. “Did you get together then?”

Iapyx shook his head. “I didn’t know how I felt. Not at first. He seemed happy enough just as my companion and teacher. Never asking much. We’d wander the mountains for hours and he would teach me about medicinal plants or take me to listen to his concerts with the Muses.” 

“Then, did something change?” 

At Zagreus' question, Iapyx slowed to a stop in the middle of the village road and tilted his head up to the sky, growing quiet. “When my father passed away, Apollo stayed by my side that winter, even when he was supposed to leave for Hyperborea. Then, after the mourning period, my life spiraled into madness. I became the man of the house at twenty-three, with several young siblings and a medical practice to run. I couldn’t spend all day out in the mountains, neglecting my responsibilities to the village. Time seemed to always be running out. I hardly saw Apollo for months on end.”

Zagreus frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. Sounds like it was a hard time.” 

“It was, but I told myself it was my duty. That I couldn’t be so carefree as I was in my youth,” Iapyx said wryly. “It was Clymene who intervened. She asked me… if I was happy with how things turned out. And I realized, I wasn’t. I missed Apollo so much that it ached. I felt full of regrets and I was wandering through my life in a daze.”

Zagreus understood the words Iapyx’s mother had told him now. The debt Iapyx felt to Clymene ran deeper than he realized. He sucked in a trembling breath. “And then?”

“Well, then, the next time Apollo came to visit the Temple, Clymene arranged for us to meet in that sacred grove of hers. I remember being so nervous. It had been a while, after all!” Iapyx paused and bit back a laugh. “Do you know what the first thing he said to me was? He told me the beard was attractive and I should keep it.” 

Zagreus burst into laughter at this, though he quieted upon seeing the warm steadiness in Iapyx’s expression. 

Iapyx continued wistfully, “I knew we couldn’t be together all the time. But the times we were together… I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.” 

For a moment, the pain from Zagreus’ ribs sharpened as if some sliver of bone had impaled him below his heart. Then, the feeling faded, leaving a dull ache in its wake. This was no tale of a god’s flighty passionate love affair, spurred on by Eros’ stinging arrows. No, this was a steady love that had been nurtured for years, through hardship and happiness alike.

He hadn’t known such things were possible.

“I’m happy for you,” he blurted out. To his surprise, the words felt sincere. No matter how aggravating Apollo was to him, he was glad the god could at least put that spark in Iapyx’s eyes. “Thank you for telling me your story.”

Iapyx gave him an embarrassed smile, and they fell into companionable silence after that, far more relaxed than before. The cool night air felt soothing against Zagreus' reddened skin and he could hardly feel the welts on his legs now. Iapyx’s house was in sight and the constellation of the Nemean Lion glimmered above their heads. Then, right before they entered the yard in front of his house, Iapyx stopped and laid a hand on the gate. 

“Zagreus, when you told us of your quest, you never mentioned it was given to you by Thanatos,” he said quietly. 

Zagreus came to a stop, nearly stumbling over flat ground, and laughed nervously. “Ah, can you forget about that? I think… I wasn’t supposed to go around telling people.” 

“I can certainly keep a secret,” Iapyx agreed, though the concern in his expression did not abate. “But, Zagreus, to be honest, I’m worried about you.”

Zagreus froze. Then, he forced a laugh. “Me? What’s there to worry about?”

“I know we haven’t known each other that long,” Iapyx said gently and the tone of his voice made Zagreus itch nervously. “But I’ve noticed you take a lot of risks for someone so young. You’re always throwing yourself into things, regardless of how dangerous they could be, with no concern for your personal safety.”

“It’s not on purpose,” Zagreus muttered. “If I could have gotten Apollo to listen to me any other way, believe me, I would have done that.”

“You could have let me handle Apollo. We had time. You pushed him because you wanted something from him,” Iapyx replied. His tone was not accusing, merely matter-of-fact, but it still made Zagreus wince. “But that’s not the point. I’m not trying to judge you for what you did or have done. I just… think you should be more careful. You’re very cavalier with your own wellbeing, Zagreus.”

“Iapyx, sir, really, it’s fine. I appreciate the concern. I’m grateful for you taking me in,” Zagreus said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I just… This is what I set out to do, so I have to see it through. Even if you don’t think a promise to a god of Death is worth much, I do intend to honor it. He gave me a chance to save the man who raised me all these years, after all. He didn’t have to, but he did. Besides, I’ve always known I owed Philomenus my life, so… this is just me, paying my debts.”

Iapyx hesitated. He regarded Zagreus without speaking, searching for some doubt or uncertainty in his face, that he could use to convince his young friend. In the face of Zagreus’ mulish determination, however, he found nothing and his shoulders sagged. “Still, there’s no need to hurry into the arms of your patron. Pace yourself, Zagreus.”

Heat crawled up Zagreus' face as he sputtered, “I… That’s not… I am pacing myself!”

Now the doctor laughed. He opened the gate and they headed towards the front door. “Well, I do want Clymene to be brought back safely, so I hope this gamble of yours pays off. No matter what Apollo says.” 

Recovering from his previous embarrassment, Zagreus managed to raise an eyebrow. “You’d bet on me over your lover? I’m flattered.”

“I may love him, but that doesn’t mean I approve of everything he does. I mean, really,” Iapyx said, fond exasperation heavy in his voice. Zagreus stifled a snort of laughter into his fist. As they strode into Iapyx’s house, they were greeted by the cries of his siblings and mother and, in the comfort of Iapyx’s home, Zagreus could finally lay the weariness of the day to rest.

The next day, Apollo made his pronouncement at the Temple as he promised. He spoke through a trembling Theoclea, who had been dressed in the robes of the Oracle and stood upon the top step of the Temple. No one but Zagreus seemed capable of seeing the flame-haired god who hovered over her shoulder and whispered instructions into her ear. From across the courtyard, Apollo met his gaze and gave him a haughty smirk. 

The message that the former Oracle was missing, delivered by Theoclea’s haunting proclamations, sent ripples of astonishment through the restless crowd. Her subsequent promise of a blessing from Apollo for whoever could find Clymene made everyone burst into frantic murmurs. Rows of priests and priestesses hovered in the sidelines, nervously watching their reactions. Theoclea retreated back into the Temple after delivering her god’s words, Apollo’s hand gentle on her back, and the crowd’s mutterings crescendoed into full-on shouting and speculation all at once. 

Already, the arrogant and the brave reveled in an opportunity to earn glory from the gods, while the skeptical and curious crowded the priests and priestesses with questions. Everyone seemed starved for information and, while Zagreus listened in on the edge for a while, he quickly realized he wasn’t learning anything of use and slipped away.

He hadn’t originally intended to return to the Temple that day, but preparations needed time, and Iapyx’s mother wouldn’t hear of Zagreus setting out without some provisions for the road. 

“I’ll go to the market in the morning,” she had insisted last night after Iapyx and Zagreus had filled her in on the new direction of his quest.

“But I don’t have any money,” Zagreus had shamefully admitted. 

“You think I don’t know that? Don’t worry, I have a plan.” 

Her plan apparently included arguing with the high priestess first thing in the morning and shaming the Temple until they spared Zagreus some obols in an attempt to get her to leave them alone. He still couldn’t believe it worked. After that, she had headed down to the _agora,_ but, since he had made the trek already, Zagreus had decided to linger behind in the Temple for Theoclea’s announcement.

Now he was glad he did. Theoclea hadn’t mentioned anything about Oxyntes or the Athenians that came in the winter. Whether that was because Apollo wanted to give Zagreus a sporting chance or because he didn’t want to air out Clymene’s betrayal, he had no idea, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Before anyone else found out about his lead, he had to reach Athens first and seek out the man with the dappled horse.

He took a side path around the Temple to avoid the crowds, a week-long familiarity with the sanctuary allowing him to weave in and out of the statues with ease. He was to meet Iapyx at the base of the mountain, who would be waiting with Xanthos and his supplies. With a twinge of guilt, he remembered how Iphianeira had cried last night when Zagreus broke the unfortunate news he was leaving and no, he would not be leaving Xanthos behind. 

“But why do you have to go? I don’t want you two to leave!” she had sobbed into Zagreus’ lap as the hearth fire burned low. “You should stay here in Delphi and play with me every day since stupid Iapyx is always working or sneaking off and never has time anymore.”

Wincing with guilt, Iapyx had tried to pull his sister away. “Iphianeira, Zagreus has an important job to do. We can’t keep him from that.”

“And besides, I’ll be back soon, if things go smoothly,” Zagreus had assured her, patting her gently on her head as her thin shoulders shook. “And you can ride Xanthos and I’ll race you both on foot. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Iphianeira had simply bawled, clinging to his bruised legs. In the end, they had only managed to bundle to her bed after the hearth fire had gone cold. 

Her words had left an impression on Zagreus, though. It was strange and a little heartening to know that he was well-liked enough to be cried over. While he didn’t know how quickly he could locate Apollo’s Oracle, the knowledge that Iapyx’s family would be waiting for him at the end made the task seem a little less daunting. 

Eager to be on the road, he started to hurry out of the sanctuary. Just as he had set foot past the western gates though, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a white blur racing out of the bushes towards him.

_The bloody swan is back—!_

Panicked, Zagreus staggered backwards and the blur came charging into him. He was knocked onto his ass when two paws thudded onto his chest. A long, wet tongue lapped his face in between several joyful barks. Zagreus giggled and snorted, as his previous alarm turned into pure delight.

“ _I_ _phios?!_ ” he exclaimed, reaching up and tussling on the ears of his beloved hound dog. “What are you doing here?”

Iphios let out a happy yelp and, tail wagging, bounced several times on Zagreus' chest. Zagreus didn’t even notice the twinge in his ribs, too busy laughing and roughhousing with his overexcited dog. 

“Okay, okay, let me up,” he wheezed after several minutes of vigorous petting and Iphios backed away obediently. Now that he could take a look at him, Zagreus saw how dirty and ragged Iphios’ coat was, as if the hound had been traveling days through the wilderness. “You didn’t follow me all the way from home, did you, boy? Oh, Iphios...”

Mouth lolling open, Iphios cocked his head in confusion as Zagreus’ smile wobbled. The pang of homesickness had lodged itself in his throat and he had to swallow hard to press it back down. 

“Can you believe I thought you were that horrid bird?” Zagreus whispered as he lifted each of Iphios’ paws and checked him for any injuries. “You wouldn’t believe the last two weeks I’ve had. I’m exhausted..." His words trailed off, however, as he noticed a strange stain around his dog’s mouth. The stain matted the white fur around Iphios’s lips, like blood, except it glimmered like liquid gold in the sunlight. 

“Did you eat some clay or something?” he questioned Iphios, who simply panted in his face. Zagreus wrinkled his nose and, as he turned his head away, he spotted a shadow lingering by the trees, right where Iphios emerged from. 

When his eyes landed on the figure, it turned and disappeared into the forest.

_It couldn’t be..._

Blood rushed to his head as he scrambled to his feet. “W-wait!” Zagreus yelled and took off after the shadow. He spared a glance backwards and called for Iphios. “Come on, boy!” 

The dog let out an excited bark and the two of them charged together into the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Mount Parnassus is the central mountain that stands over the Pleistos Valley, where Delphi is located. It is a mountain sacred to many gods, including Dionysus and Apollo, as well as being one of the two mountains named as a home for the Muses. Orpheus was also said to have spent some of his childhood living upon the mountain. The mountain is primarily made of limestone, which helps create the blinding white slopes that one sees upon entering the valley. 
> 
> [2] The Castalian Spring is the sacred spring at Delphi, whose waters were said to have healing and purifying properties. Supplicants, prior to entering the Temple, were required to purify themselves by washing at least their hands and feet. By some accounts, the Oracle would also bathe in the spring prior to any divine consultation. Its waters, noted by Pausanias for being sweet-tasting and pleasant to bathe in, flowed from Mount Parnassus by way of subterranean channels and were channeled into fountains outside the sacred precinct. The origin for the spring's name is unknown, with some attributing its namesake to a naiad-nymph and others to a local woman in Delphi. 
> 
> [3] Leto is the Titan mother of Artemis and Apollo. Because her pregnancy by Zeus angered Queen Hera, she was forbidden from giving birth on solid land and was forced to flee all across the earth while being pursued by various chthonic monsters. Eventually, she found her way to Delos, an island floating in the sea, and was able to give birth to first Artemis, then Apollo. As a goddess of motherhood and protector of the young, she is associated closely with her two children and much beloved by them. Artemis and Apollo even sought revenge for her, hunting down and slaying all the monsters that once besieged her during her flight to Delos. 
> 
> [4] The chariot of Helios refers to the sun-chariot that the Titan Helios drives around the earth once a day. He is sometimes identified with other gods of light and fire, such as Hephaestus and Apollo, but has his own unique stories as well. One of his most famous tales was how he allowed his demigod son, Phaethon, to drive his sun-chariot. The boy lost control of the immortal steeds, however, and proceeded to scorch the surface of the earth black. Zeus, in order to stop any further destruction, had to strike the boy out of the sky with a thunderbolt and he fell into the Eridanus river, killing him instantly.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/argetcross) or [tumblr](https://www.argetcross.tumblr.com) as argetcross. Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed, please leave a kudos or comment below!


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